THE  PHENOMENA 


PLANT    LIFE 


BY  LEO  H.  (^RINDON, 

LECTURER    OS    BOTANY    AT    THE    ROYAL    SCHOOL    OF    MEDICINE,  MANCHESTER;  AUTHOR 
OF  MANCHESTER  WALKS  AND  WILD  FLOWEBS,  ETC. 


BOSTON: 

NICHOLS    &>    NOYES. 

1866. 


BIOLOGY 
R 
G 


?  •'    *     *  '*  v»\^«R'CUCTUirc  DEFT 


Stereotyped  and  Printed  by 

J.   E.   FARWELL    .AND    COMPANT, 

37  Congress  Street,  Boston. 


THE  delightful  series  of  papers  which  compose  this  little 
volume  are  taken  from  recent  numbers  of  an  English  peri- 
odical, "  The  Intellectual  Repository." 

We  are  led  to  collect  and  publish  them  in  this  form,  from 
the  great  pleasure  their  perusal  has  afforded  ourselves. 

They  will  be  found  to  describe,  in  beautiful  language,  the 
still  more  beautiful,  and  living  "Phenomena  of  Plant  Life;" 
and,  if  we  mistake  not,  will  afford  a  rich  mental  and  moral 
repast  to  every  careful  reader. 

Referring  mainly  to  the  character  of  the  work,  we  doubt  if 
a  more  elegant  gift  volume  will  be  offered  the  present  season. 

PUBLISHERS. 


C677S3 


CHAPTER    I. 

WINTER. 

THE  new  year  opens  very  appropriately  in  the  depth 
of  winter,  since  the  commencement  of  all  things,  both 
in  the  natural  and  in  the  moral  world,  takes  place  in 
secrecy  and  seeming  darkness.  Yet  new  year's  day 
is  a  matter  only  of  the  artificial  division  of  time.  The 
phenomena  of  living  nature  which  mark  the  actual 
progress  of  the  year,  are  independent  altogether  of  the 
almanac.  Long  before  we  exchange  our  kindly  greet- 
ings, and  those  happy  salutations  and  generous  wishes 
of  the  season,  that  signalize  the  advent  of  the  new 
year  to  our  firesides,  —  long  before  this,  it  has  been 
new  year's  day  to  a  thousand  buds  and  flowers,  both 
in  field  and  garden.  Delicate  looms  have  been  set  in 
motion  to  weave  that  sweet  apparel  with  which,  in 
due  time,  even  Solomon,  in  all  his  glory,  might  not 
compare.  Deep  in  the  hidden  chambers  of  many  a 
root  and  little  bulb,  have  commenced  in  quiet  energy 
those  wonderful  preparations  which,  when  summer 
l* 


6  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

bids  welcome,  charm  our  eyes  with  lovely  colors,  and 
our  nostrils  with  aromas.  In  a  word,  though  to  civil- 
ized man  it  is  the  first  day  of  the  year,  to  vegetable 
life  it  is  a  period  of  advanced  infancy.  Rightly  to 
esteep?  the  flow  of  the  seasons,  we  must  view  them  as 
an  'unbr&kea  sequence  of  new  developments.  Though 
Wie, class  of  appearances  may  come  to  a  close,  another 
rises  out  of  it  almost  before  we  miss  the  departing 
one  ;  as  on  a  fair  midsummer's  night,  before  we  have 
lost  the  last  trails  of  the  reluctant  sunset,  the  calm, 
still,  sweet  aurora  of  the  new  sunrise,  peeping  over 
the  mountain-tops,  enters  our  hearts  like  the  smile  of 
a  child. 

In  a  word,  again,  we  never  see  beginnings.  We 
think  we  trace  rivers  to  their  sources,  but  the  first 
trickles  among  the  moss  on  the  mountain-side,  are 
collections  of  water-drops  that  have  their  own  anterior 
history.  The  coy  sources  of  the  Nile,  that  have  at 
length  rewarded  enterprise,  far  back  as  they  lie  in 
those  sultry  African  plains,  do  but  represent  a  stage 
in  the  life  of  the  immortal  stream.  The  forest  that 
has  been  venerable  for  ages,  began  in  acorns  and  tiny 
seeds,  whence  derived,  even  the  philosopher  can  only 
guess.  The  shells  that  inlay  the  wrinkles  on  the 
sands,  —  these  come  tossed  up,  it  may  be,  from  some 
birthplace  that  human  eye  has  never  beheld  ;  —  it  is 
always  something  in  a  measure  accomplished  that  we 
obtain  ;  early  as  we  commence  our  search,  we  always 


WINTER.  7 

enter  late,  —  the  year  has  begun  before  we  thought, 
or  could  be  quick  enough  to  watch.  So  it  is  with  the 
operations  of  Divine  Love.  Everywhere  we  are 
steeped  in  blessings  that  lie  back  beyond  all  memory 
of  beginning,  or  perception  of  cause.  We  may  learn 
to  appreciate  more  fully,  —  and  understanding  better, 
to  be  more  grateful,  but  for  the  first  flow  of  them,  we 
must  ask  of  the  "morning  stars  "  that  "  sang  togeth- 
er/7 and  of  the  "sons  of  God"  that  "shouted  for 
joy."  The  simplest  throb  of  pleasure  that  swells  the 
soul  in  connection  with  the  good  or  true,  if  we  will 
but  look  at  ourselves  in  the  light  of  the  recipients, 
that  we  are,  is  no  incident  purely  of  the  hour,  but  a 
result  of  something  our  diary  does  not  record  ;  far, 
far  away  in  the  heavenly  era  of  earliest  boyhood,  was 
sown  the  seed  that  brings  forth  that  pleasant  fruit. 

Take  first,  as  an  illustration  of  this  wonderful  win- 
ter-life of  plants,  the  little  bulb  of  the  common  garden 
crocus.  At  this  season,  if  we  have  not  one  at  hand  to 
dig  out  of  the  ground,  it  is  easy  to  procure  an  exam- 
ple from  any  seed-shop.  The  bulb  itself  is  round,  flat- 
tened at  top  and  bottom,  and  covered  with  elegantly- 
netted  brown  coats.  Upon  the  summit  are  elevated 
several  white  spires,  plump,  hard,  and  pointed,  and  in 
these,  if  we  dissect  carefully,  will  be  found  all  the  gol- 
den glory  that  would  have  been  unfolded  in  March 
and  April.  The  petals  are  there,  minute  it  is  true, 
but  in  that  respect  not  inferior,  in  their  degree,  to 


8 


PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 


kings  and  princes  as  they  lie  in  their  cradles  ;  the  sta- 
mens are  fully  formed,  and  stand  as  the  principal  part  of 
the  blossom,  and  round  about  are  tiny  spear-like  leaves. 
Every  cluster  is  wrapped  separately  in  transparent 
clothing,  and  over  the  whole  are  strong  and  opaque 
vestments  that  protect  the  precious  rudiments  alike 
from  cold  and  wet.  By  degrees  the  spires  grow  tall- 
er ;  presently  they  burst  at  the  tips,  and  eventually 
the  foliage  and  yellow  vases  peep  above  the  ground. 
The  bees  are  glad  when  they  arrive,  and  visit  them  al- 
ternately with  the  palm-bloom  in  the  hedges,  return- 
ing from  their  happy  labor  all  besprinkled  with  the 
yellow  pollen.  If  a  few  crocus  bulbs  be  placed  in  a 
tea  saucer,  with  a  little  cotton-wool  as  a  foundation, 
and  the  saucer  be  kept  constantly  supplied  with  water, 
so  that  the  wool  shall  be  permanently  saturated  with 
wet,  the  spires  will  open  just  the  same  as  if  in  the 
earth,  and  make  even  the  gloomiest  of  back  sitting- 
rooms  cheerful  at  the  dreariest  season  of  the  year, 
opening  their  gay  corollas  one  after  another.  To 
watch  them  grow  day  by  day,  is  alone  a  cheerful 
sight.  The  more  we  can  keep  ourselves  face  to  face 
with  the  simple  and  pretty  little  things  of  nature, 
bringing  them  into  our  parlors,  nursing  them  upon 
our  mantelpieces,  making  them  companions  of  our  sol- 
itude, the  more  truly  do  we  learn  to  love  what  is 
grand  and  noble  in  the  outer  world.  Improving  ideas 
are  not  got  only — nor  perhaps  so  much — from  the  con- 


WINTER.  » 

templation  of  waterfalls,  mighty  mountains,  and  ex- 
tended prospects,  as  from  the  day-by-day  quiet  obser- 
vation of  the  wonderful  ways  of  God  in  the  calling 
forth  of  a  little  flower  from  its  nest,  and  painting  it 
with  miraculous  hues  that  seem  impossible  to  proceed 
from  dull,  cold  soil.  The  glory  of  God  is  to  bring  or- 
der out  of  confusion,  peace  out  of  discord,  life  out  of 
death ;  and  nowhere  in  nature  do  we  see  it  more  beau- 
tifully expressed  than  in  the  birth  of  the  silver-mantled 
flower,  —  a  birth  that  comes  not  through  any  aid  or 
encouragement  from  man,  but  apparently  of  its  own 
free  action.  The  yellow  crocus  is  a -native  of  the 
South  of  Europe,  though  introduced  so  long  ago  to 
our  own  island,  as  to  be  one  of  the  oldest  inhabitants 
of  the  garden.  Few  think,  perhaps,  when  surveying 
its  varied  loveliness,  how  many  countries  and  how 
many  years  of  diligence  have  contributed  to  the  gar- 
den ;  yet  there  is  scarcely  a  country  beneath  the  sky 
but  has  been  laid  under  contribution,  and  there  is  now 
in  England  a  summary  of  the  floral  treasures  of  the 
whole  world.  The  purple  crocus,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  an  ancient  Briton,  counting  itself  as  part  of  the 
grass  of  the  field,  —  not,  indeed,  as  a  common  object 
of  the  country,  like  the  primrose  or  the  daffodil,  but 
as  one  of  the  select  few  that  are  confined  to  certain 
spots.  Near  Nottingham,  in  March  and  April,  the 
meadows  are  flooded  with  its  refreshing  bloom,  and 
the  flowers,  brought  home  in  handfuis  by  the  city 


10  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

children,   lie  scattered   about  the  streets  as   though 
Nature  had  lost  her  way. 

What  the  crocus  during  winter  is  in  the  earth,  the 
flower-buds  of  many  trees  are  upon  the  boughs.  These 
very  trees,  which  to  the  eye  are  least  provided  with 
flowery  charms,  and  which  never  aspire,  even  in  the 
height  of  their  life,  to  be  more  than  what  neutral  tints 
are  to  the  artist,  —  these  very  trees  are  in  winter  so 
rich  in  wonder,  as  to  take  rank  with  the  most  alluring 
forms  of  nature.  The  common  hazel-nut  in  mid-win- 
ter is  hung  with  innumerable  gray-green  clusters  ;  the 
alder  and  willow-buds  swell  with  leafy  effort ;  the  lat- 
ter often  burst  before  Christmas,  and  disclose  their 
silky  contents.  Everywhere  there  is  the  note  of  prep- 
aration, and  though  the  cold  days  and  colder  nights 
may  chill  their  sap,  the  movement  is  still  upwards  ;  — 
spring  is  the  desire,  spring  is  the  promised  land ;  and 
though  the  fireside  may  prove  more  inviting  than  the 
woodland,  and  incuriousness  may  leave  them  all  unob- 
served, no  matter ;  every  tree  moves  its  steady  way, 
seeking  outlets  at  a  thousand  points  ;  and  by-and-by, 
when  a  tempting  afternoon  carries  our  footsteps  across 
the  meadows,  we  look  round  in  congratulation  that 
spring  is  beginning,  whereas  in  truth,  it  is  we  who 
are  just  beginning  to  observe.  Thus  is  winter  in  con- 
nection with  plant-life,  if  we  will  only  go  forth  and 
learn,  a  time  of  grand  assurance  to  us  that  nothing 
ever  absolutely  ceases.  The  particular  organs  con- 


WINTER.  11 

structed  for  the  performance  of  given  functions  may 
collapse  and  go  to  decay,  but  the  life  which  acts 
through  them  never  ceases  for  one  instant.  Sleep  in 
the  animal,  leaflessness  in  the  plant  and  tree,  indicate 
only  that  nature  is  gathering  up  her  strength  for  new 
movements  ;  that  which  seems  cessation  is  the  transit 
from  a  weaker  to  a  more  powerful  state.  Winter,  in 
fact,  is  the  necessity  of  all  beginning,  as  summer  is 
the  necessity  of  all  ripeness  and  perfection. 

I  have  often  been  struck  in  winter  by  the  peculiar 
beauty,  then  revealed,  in  the  architecture  of  the  oak 
as  compared  with  the  poplar,  of  the  elm  as  compared 
with  the  larch,  and  so  on,  all  through  the  long  list  of 
the  vegetable  patriarchs.  Winter  is  needed  in  order 
that  we  may  have  their  various  figures  truly  disclosed, 
since  in  summer  all  is  concealed  by  masses  of  foliage  ; 
and  it  is  not  the  least  among  the  many  solaces  of 
drear  December,  that  the  manly  dignity  of  one  kind  of 
tree  shall  be  brought  into  contrast  with  the  feminine 
gracefulness  of  another,  and  that  we  shall  be  reminded 
by  these  disclosures,  that  truth  abides  not  in  apparel, 
but  in  those  inner  lineaments  of  things  which  in  the 
heyday  of  excitement  and  pleasure,  we  are  apt  to  for- 
get. In  summer,  we  overlook  ;  the  glory  of  the  world 
encircles  us,  and  we  are  content ;  in  the  summer  of 
life,  similarly  circled  by  its  charms,  we  are  as  apt  to 
forget  that  all  is  passing  away ;  we  eat  and  drink  and 
are  merry.  Thanks,  then,  be  to  God,  that  secular 


12  PHENOMENA   OF  PLANT-LIFE. 

pleasures  fade  as  a  leaf,  that  the  outsides  of  things  are 
stripped  away,  and  that  the  mournfulness  of  separa- 
tion and  bereavement  come  round  inevitably,  for  these 
are  the  processes  that  place  us  in  the  presence  of  what 
is  permanent.  As  winter  in  the  natural  world  is  to 
the  accomplished  mind  no  time  of  gloom,  but  a  period 
rather  for  realizing  new  delights,  though  possibly 
tinged  with  seriousness,  so  winter  in  the  life  of  the 
soul,  need  bring  no  despondency  or  sadness,  since  it 
is  then  that  we  gather  our  best  glimpses  of  immortal 
truth. 

So  in  winter  have  I  often  been  gladdened  by  the 
sight  of  the  glorious  ivy  boughs,  that  mantling  the 
aged  trunk,  wreathe  it  with  perennial  and  shining 
verdure.  When  most  other  things  are  withheld,  the 
ivy,  the  holly-tree  with  its  scarlet  bracelets,  the  mis- 
tletoe loaded  with  pearls,  maintain  for  us  the  sweet 
influence  of  nature,  —  images  of  indestructibility  ;  and 
triumphing  over  darkness  and  cold,  are  well  used  to 
decorate  our  houses  and  churches  at  Christmas.  There 
is  more  than  appears  at  first  sight  in  the  use  of  these 
plants  for  Christmas  ornaments.  Antiquaries  refer  us 
to  fancies  of  the  ancients,  that  the  sylvan  deities 
(themselves  purely  fabulous  beings)  being  frozen  out, 
or  at  least  benumbed,  in  their  native  woods,  were  glad 
to  take  shelter,  like  robins,  in  the  vicinity  and  beneath 
the  roofs  of  human  habitations,  and  that  these  cheer- 
ful sprays  of  evergreens  were  to  give  them  a  kind  of 


WINTER.  13 

welcome,  so  that  they  might  not  feel  altogether  lost 
and  exiled.  Thp  truth  lies  probably  in  the  ancient 
symbolic  use  of  trees  and  shrubs  in  connection  with 
religious  faith,  on  which  ground  they  were  used  in 
pious  ceremonies,  and  placed  beside  the  altars,  as  vis- 
ible representatives  of  those  peculiar  blessings  which 
the  deity  to  whom  .they  were  consecrated,  was  be- 
lieved willing  to  bestow  where  reverently  asked.  Our 
Lord's  coming  to  the  earth  in  the  depth  of  winter,  was 
representative  of  the  time  when  man  most  needs  Him  ; 
these  rich,  red  berries  and  lustrous  leaves  of  the  holly, 
triumphing  over  the  asperities  of  frost  and  snow,  pic- 
ture beautifully  His  dominion  over  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness, and  are  life,  as  it  were,  made  visible. 

Nor  are  evergreens  all  that  greet  the  eye  in  mid- 
winter. There  are  flowers,  too,  few  it  may  be,  but 
choice  and  pure,  sufficient  to  assure  us  that  Flora  never 
forgets  her  prime  duty ;  and  though  she  may  repose 
awhile,  provides  sweetness  for  every  day.  Nothing 
is  fairer  than  the  Christmas-rose,  though  not  a  rose  in 
nature.  The  large  white  petals  form  elegant  concavi- 
ties, with  a  tuft  of  yellow  stamens  in  the  centre,  after 
the  fashion  of  a  little  wheat-sheaf,  and  round  about  the 
latter  is  set  a  ring  of  green  honeycups,  in  which,  even 
now,  scanty  nectar  may  be  discovered.  The  appear- 
ance of  these  Christmas  flowers,  following  as  they  do 
many  of  late  autumn,  illustrates  beautifully  that  al- 
though our  seasons  in  the  North  are  so  marked,  yet, 


14  PHENOMENA  OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

as  in  the  tropics,  where  the  procession  is  continuous, 
we  in  England  have  in  reality  all  four  periods  side  by 
side.  Nature  has  so  ordered  her  economy,  that  spring, 
summer,  autumn,  winter,  are  all  represented  every 
week  in  the  year ;  not  necessarily  in  atmospheric  phe- 
nomena, but  in  the  life-history  of  trees  and  plants. 
The  little  cresses  that  dot  the  wheat-fields  with  white 
flowers  in  March  and  April,  have  run  through  their 
summer  and  closed  their  autumn,  while  to  the  lilies  it 
is  only  spring  ; —  when  the  lilies  stand  white,  and  tall, 
and  fragrant  in  their  queenly  pride,  the  Michaelmas- 
daisy  and  the  farewell-summer  are  only  bestirring 
themselves  ;  and  these,  in  their  departure,  are  soon 
forgotten  in  the  chrysanthemums.  And  so  it  goes  on, 
life  ever  treading  upon  the  steps  of  decay,  all  forces 
and  phenomena  summed  up  in  every  circle  in  which 
we  may  find  ourselves.  There  is  no  retiring  from  the 
presence  of  life,  any  more  than,  by  taking  the  "  wings 
of  the  morning,"  that  we  may  dwell  in  the  "utter- 
most parts  of  the  earth,"  we  escape  from  the  Presence 
that  ruleth  all. 


CHAPTER    II. 

EARLY  SPRING. 

THE  essential  sign  of  spring  in  northern  latitudes  is 
the  swelling  of  the  buds  upon  the  trees,  and  those  of 
the  sturdy  bushes  which  the  husbandman  uses  for 
hedges.  The  appearance  of  flowers,  except  to  the 
experienced  eye,  cannot  always  be  depended  upon. 
Many  that  would  be  thought  heralds  of  the  new  season 
are  in  reality  relics  of  the  year  that  has  departed,  — 
epitaphs  on  the  summer  of  six  months  before,  — 
memorials  rather  than  prophecies.  Such  is  the  case 
with  the  wall-flower,  which  is  often  seen  plentifully  in 
bloom  in  January,  unless  the  winter  be  very  severe,  — 
the  succession  of  flowers  from  side-shoots  having  pro- 
ceeded uninterruptedly  perhaps  since  the  previous 
May.  This  long-protracted  flow  of  bloom  is  usually 
attributable  to  the  flowers  being  gathered  for  love- 
tokens  or  personal  pleasure,  and  thus  hindered  from 
fulfilling  the  grand  purpose  for  which  all  flowers  are 
in  every  case  developed,  namely,  the  origination  of 
seed  from  which  new  plants  shall  be  reared,  to  take 
the  place  of  the  parents,  when  the  latter  lie  withered 
and  dead.  As  long  as  a  plant  is  hindered  from  pro- 


16  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

ceeding  with  the  due  preparation  of  its  intended 
seeds,  so  long  will  it  persist  in  its  efforts,  and  renew 
them,  striving,  till  all  its  vitality  is  exhausted,  to  leave 
if  it  be  only  a  single  voucher  of  its  honest  toil.  A 
thousand  times  have  I  noticed  this  wonderful  and  quiet 
energy  in  operation.  In  the  fields  some  hungry  quad- 
ruped bites  off  the  young  green  flower-head  as  a  relish 
to  the  insipid  grass  ;  • —  no  matter,  from  every  joint 
below,  a  new  shoot  is  soon  put  forth ;  and  in  a  few 
weeks,  where  there  would  have  been,  perhaps,  no 
more  than  a  single  blossom,  there  are  now  a  dozen 
flowers.  So  in  the  garden  some  lily  hand  crops  a 
flower  white  as  itself,  and  if  the  structure  of  the  plant 
permit,  by  and  by  the  whiteness  gleams  from  one  little 
side  branchlet  after  another,  and  in  a  way  that  would 
probably  never  have  happened  save  for  the  destruction 
of  the  first-born.  Applying  our  knowledge  of  this 
principle  to  the  interpretation  of  the  Christmas  wall- 
flowers, it  is  easy  to  understand  how  it  happens  that 
their  bloom  lingers  so  long.  Many  a  posy,  when  the 
days  were  at  their  best,  was  probably  made  odorous 
with  the  early  blossoms  of  this  cheerful  plant ;  these 
that  come  in  the  dull  cold  days  of  winter  are  the  proof 
of  the  hindered  efforts,  and  a  witness  to  unflinching 
perseverance  in  the  fair  endeavor,  —  a  perseverance 
that  may  read  us  all  a  gentle  lesson,  —  strive  to  the 
last ;  if  we  fail,  we  have  at  least  deserved  to  win. 
Very  different  are  such  flowers  as  the  yellow  pile- 


EARLY   SPRING.  17 

wort  and  the  golden  coltsfoot.     These   are   genuine 
spring  blossoms,  never  appearing  until  the  new  year 
has  made  a  fair  start,  nor  renewing  their  flowers  in 
summer  and   autumn.     Being  "weeds,"   and  never 
growing  in  pastures,   they   are   seldom   cropped  or 
gathered,  so  that  the  original  preparation  of  bloom  is 
generally  followed  by  successful  result  in  seed.     Very 
pretty  is  it,  when  the  last  of  the  snow  has  dissolved 
from  the  ground,  to  see  the  bright  rays  of  the  pilewort 
among  the  half-withered  relics  of   the   past  autumn 
upon  the  hedgebank,  and  their  young  leaves  spreading 
a  carpet  over  the  heretofore  brown  earth  in  woods  and 
groves ;  no  less  pretty  is  the  spectacle  of  the  colts- 
foot, when  it  opens  its  yellow  disk,  formed  of  a  hun- 
dred rays  as  fine  as  needles,  and  this  without  a  single 
leaf  to   stand  in   contrast.      Both  flowers   need  the 
sunshine  in  order  that  they  may  expand.     On  dull  and 
cloudy  days  they  remain  fast  shut  up,  but  with  the 
first  kind  beam  from  the  sky  they  spread  their  little 
petals,  and  glow  as  long  as  the  atmosphere  is  genial. 
The  pilewort  is  not  unlike  a  buttercup,  but  the  leaves 
are  rounded  and  polished,  and  it  rarely  grows  taller 
than  the  breadth  of  one's  hand.     "  Weed  "  it  may  be 
in  popular  estimation,  but  the  wood-pigeons  do  not  so 
lightly  esteem  it.     The  fleshy  roots,  shaped  like  little 
round  beans,  lie  very  near  the  surface  of  the  soil :  the 
rain  washes  the  earth  from  them,  and  lays  them  bare, 
2* 


18  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

and  these  birds  come  and  make  their  meals  on  the 
supply  thus  provided. 

Every  living  creature  has  its  cornfields  ;  true,  it  is 
only  man  who  is  called  upon  to  sow  and  reap,  to  grind 
and  to  bake  into  bread,  —  and  this,  in  order  that  by 
virtuous  and  regular  labor  he  may  have  his  intellect 
and  affections  stimulated  ;  but  cornfields,  in  their  kind, 
are  spread  for  everything  that  eats, — composed,  it 
may  be,  of  the  simplest  and  weakest  plants  in  nature  ; 
still,  in  their  importance  to  tens  of  thousands  of 
speechless  creatures,  no  less  momentous  than  the 
broad  acres  of  wheat  and  barley,  oats,  rice,  rye, 
millet,  and  maize,  that  supply  the  human  population 
of  the  earth  with  their  daily  sustenance.  There  is 
probably  no  plant  in  nature  that  does  not  directly 
support  the  life  of  some  little  animal :  it  was  for  this 
purpose  that  plants  were  in  great  measure  called  into 
being,  and  when  we  are  tempted  to  despise  the  insig- 
nificant ones,  and  to  call  them  "  weeds/7  we  should 
remember  that  nothing  has  been  made  in  vain,  and 
that  everything  has  been  designed  for  some  generous 
purpose.  But  why  should  they  be  called  "  weeds  "  ? 
Weeds  are  flowers  out  of  the  place  for  which  Provi- 
dence designed  them.  If  a  lily  spring  up  by  some 
casualty  in  a  potato-bed,  it  is  in  that  place  a  weed, 
quite  as  much  so  as  a  dandelion  is  among  the  tulips  ; 
but  neither  of  them  is  a  weed  in  its  native  woods  or 
fields,  since  these  are  the  habitations  assigned  to 


EAELY   SPRING.  19 

them,  and  in  which,  to  eyes  that  look  on  the  sweet 
simplicity  of  creation  with  joy  and  pleasure,  they  are 
always  beautiful.  Very  much  of  what  we  are  apt  to 
consider  the  uncomeliness  of  things  comes  in  reality 
of  our  not  seeing  them  in  their  natural  and  proper 
conditions,  but  under  some  artificial  and  constrained 
circumstances  that  interfere  grievously  with  the  native 
characters.  Look,  for  instance,  at  the  unfortunate 
monkey,  dragged  from  its  native  haunts,  and  carried 
about  the  streets  on  an  organ-top.  There  it  may  well 
look  ridiculous  and  even  disgusting.  But  see  the 
creature  at  play  in  its  native  woods,  its  free  nature 
finding  scope  and  opportunity,  and  living  in  harmony 
with  the  rudeness  of  the  scene,  and  instead  of  being 
absurd,  it  becomes  graceful,  and  the  tree  seems  incom- 
plete when  the  creature  quits  it.  Much  the  same  is  it 
with  the  despised  plants  denominated  "  weeds." 
True,  if  allowed  to  spread  unchecked,  many  kinds 
establish  upon  farm-land  a  disastrous  empire,  that 
supersedes  the  prospective  crops,  strangling  the  roots, 
twining  round  the  stems,  or  mingling  their  pernicious 
seeds  with  the  wholesome  grain  ;  but  this  is  a  fact 
belonging  to  a  different  class  altogether  from  that 
which  includes  the  consideration  of  the  absolute  and 
intrinsic  beauty  and  usefulness  of  the  plants.  Rag- 
wort, that  covers  the  neglected  fields  with  gaudy 
yellow,  nourishes  the  caterpillar  of  a  lovely  butterfly 
that  will  eat  no  other  leaf  with  content ;  —  thistles, 


20  PHENOMENA  OF  PLANT-LIFE. 

that  aggravate  the  farmer  un  careful  to  nip  them  in  the 
beginning,  supply  in  their  seeds  food  for  innumerable 
little  birds,  especially  those  of  the  goldfinch  kind. 
Both  plants,  moreover,  in  vigor  of  growth,  elegance 
of  organization,  clear  brightness  of  color,  and  long 
continuing  flow  of  cheerful  bloom,  take  place  with  the 
handsomest  that  the  profusion  of  nature  flings  abroad. 
We  may  travel  many  miles,  and  explore  whole  prov- 
inces, and  not  find  a  more  charming  plant  than  the 
crimson  musk-thistle.  In  its  native  haunts  and  proper 
abiding-places  (which  are  by  the  edges  of  green  lanes, 
and  on  green  and  breezy  downs  overlooking  the  sea, 
as  on  that  fair  green  hill  at  Clevedon,  from  which  we 
look  across  the  water  to  South  Wales,  and  far  away 
westwards  towards  the  Atlantic)  it  lifts  a  tall  and 
woolly  stem,  crowned  with  some  half-dozen  gorgeous 
and  half-drooping  crimson  heads,  smelling  of  honey 
and  musk,  and-more  brilliant  in  effect  than  ten  thou- 
sand of  the  far-fetched,  dear-bought,  fashionable 
exotics  in  gardens. 

All  right-minded  people  thank  God  every  day  for 
His  greater  gifts  and  bounties  ;  it  is  doubtful  if  any 
of  us  remember  to  thank  Him  as  steadily  for  the  sim- 
ple and  common  things  of  nature,  which  we  seem  to 
ourselves  to  feel  as  our  right,  or  at  all  events  as  so 
much  a  part  of  the  very  idea  of  the  world  as  to  be- 
come our  lawful  inheritance,  and  thus  not  needing  to 
be  considered  as  objects  of  gratefulness.  A  thankful 


EAELY  SPRING.  21 

spirit  recognizes  the  goodness  of  God  in  the  weakest 
as  well  as  in  the  strongest  of  things  ;  and  to  my  mind 
it  seems  that  while  I  am  thankful  to  Him  for  the 
lustre  of  the  evening  sky,  for  food  and  raiment,  for 
the  bestowal  of  friends,  for  the  sustenance  of  hope 
and  faith,  for  the  prolongation  of  life,  —  though  the 
heart  may  have  sorrowful  tombstones  in  it,  —  still,  I 
fall  short  and  forget  if  I  am  not  thankful,  too,  for  the 
sweet  shape,  and  hue,  and  odor,  of  that  sea-side  this- 
tle, since  it  possesses  not  only  an  immaculate  beauty 
of  its  own,  but,  associated  as  it  is  with  the  sound  of 
the  waves,  and  with  events  long  since  passed,  becomes 
a  keynote  forever  to  some  of  the  sweetest  experiences 
of  bygone  life.  All  things  deserve  such  thankfulness, 
the  commonest  as  well  as  the  grandest,  for  the  common 
ones  are  the  heritage  of  the  poor,  given  them  "  with- 
out money  and  without  price, "  so  that  it  is  but  sim- 
plest philanthropy  to  be  glad  of  the  presence  of  what 
all  can  enjoy  without  cost/7 

These,  however,  are  matters  rather  divergent  from 
the  idea  of  plant-life  in  early  spring.  The  appearance  of 
the  buds  of  trees  is  without  question  the  most  reliable, 
since  there  is  a  greater  steadiness  and  exactitude  in 
the  succession  and  periodicity  of  their  vital  phenomena 
than  occurs  in  very  many  herbaceous  plants,  though 
to  appearance  the  latter  may  be  quite  as  regular.  It 
is  not  a  little  curious  that  the  renewal  of  trees  by 
annual  shoots  developed  from  buds  is  a  matter  of 


22  PHENOMENA  OF  PLANT  LITE. 

comparatively  recent  observation.  The  ancients  had 
a  name  for  the  buds  of  trees  ;  but  it  was  our  illustri- 
ous countryman,  John  Kay,  a  minister  of  the  gospel 
in  the  time  of  the  Commonwealth,  who  first  demon- 
strated scientifically  that  the  increase  of  trees  takes 
place  by  means  of  such  annual  sproutings.  Some  of 
the  German  naturalists  regard  the  trunk  of  a  tree  as  a 
mere  mass  of  obsolete  vegetable  matter,  and  the 
annual  shoots  as  comparable  to  young  plants  that  rise 
out  of  the  earth  in  spring  from  seeds.  To  this  view 
of  the  matter  there  are,  however,  grave  objections. 
Every  kind  of  tree  has  a  fixed  lease  of  life  ;  it  is  com- 
petent to  acquire  a  given  stature  and  a  definite  profile 
and  physiognomy,  and  until  this  has  been  attained,  it 
can  hardly  be  said  that  the  tree  is  other  than  a  living 
unity.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  wonderful  structure  of 
the  buds,  and  their  prodigious  powers  of  life,  are  of 
the  most  singular  and  striking  interest.  Every  bud 
consists  of  a  growing  nucleus,  a  little  heart  of  pith 
seeking  to  push  forwards  ;  and  overlying  it,  a  number 
of  minute  leaves,  mere  rudiments  of  proper  leaves, 
which  protect  the  centre  from  the  asperities  of  the 
weather,  but  yield  this  way  and  that,  correspondingly 
with  the  enlargement  of  the  germ  in  the  interior.  By 
degrees  true  leaves  are  developed,  a  slender  shoot  is 
protruded,  and  it  may  be  that  in  this  there  is  the  com- 
mencement of  a  large  bough.  The  outer,  rudimentary 
leaves  undergo  no  change  ;  they  retain  their  places  as 


EARLY   SPRING.  23 

long  as  useful,  then  drop  off.  The  shape  and  color 
of  the  buds  are  no  less  various  than  their  economy  is 
admirable.  In  the  beech-tree  they  are  slender  and 
pointed,  resembling  brown  thorns  ;  in  the  oak,  solid 
and  amber-olive  color ;  in  the  ash,  of  the  blackness  of 
soot ;  in  the  lime,  yellowish-red ;  in  the  horse-chestnut, 
covered  with  abundant  sticky  matter.  Every  tree,  in 
a  word,  may  be  told  as  readily  in  the  earliest  days 
of  spring  by  its  buds  alone,  as  in  summer  by  its 
flowers,  and  when  in  full  leaf,  by  the  peculiarities  of 
its  foliage.  This  is  one  of  the  great  charms  of  the 
study  of  nature.  We  have  always  something  to  fall 
back  upon.  Every  season  writes  the  names  of  its 
trees  and  plants  legibly  and  unmistakably,  but  in  a 
different  mode.  We  never  need  be  at  loss,  since  the 
disappearance  of  one  feature  is  the  signal  for  another 
to  come  into  view.  The  buds  open  at  very  various 
times  in  the  different  kinds  of  trees.  The  first  to  come 
in  leaf  is  the  woodbine  or  wild  honeysuckle,  which  is 
often  in  nearly  full  foliage  many  weeks  before  others 
have  begun  to  move  ;  the  elder  is  also  very  prompt ; 
and  soon  after  them  come  those  small,  green,  countless 
specks  in  the  hedges,  that  by  and  by  are  to  make  the 
richness  of  the  hawthorn,  and  become  dappled  with 
its  crowd  of  odorous  blossoms.  Marvellous  is  it  to 
note  the  power  they  have  of  resisting  cold.  Doubt- 
less their  progress  is  checked  by  the  advent  of  a 
frosty  night  after  they  have  commenced  ;  the  wonder, 


24  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

however,  is  not  that  they  should  be  checked,  but  that 
they  should  hold  such  an  amount  of  inner  warmth  as 
to  stand  proof  against  the  bitterness  that  destroys 
tender  things  from  India  with  a  touch.  In  severe 
winters  many  trees  get  quite  killed  ;  but  thousands 
of  others  prove  their  invulnerableness,  and  seem,  as  it 
were,  to  rise  from  the  dead.  Many  and  wonderful 
have  been  the  miracles  wrought  for  special  moral  pur- 
poses, but  no  miracle  has  ever  exceeded  in  sweet  and 
impressive  power,  that  great  one  we  all  witness  every 
spring,  when  that  which  seemed  quite  dead,  shows 
life  in  unabated  energy,  and  this  without  the  visible 
presence  of  a  miracle-worker. 

Curious  is  it  to  note  also  how  many  of  the  buds 
prepared  by  a  tree  never  come  to  maturity,  nor  even 
sprout.  Buds  are  disposed  so  symmetrically  upon  the 
branches,  that  were  every  one  of  them  to  be  pushed 
forth  into  a  twig,  and  again  produce  other  twigs, 
there  would  soon  be  an  inextricable  mass,  utterly  pre- 
ventive of  ventilation  and  the  entrance  of  light,  and 
the  tree  would  die  of  self-suffocation.  But  the  econ- 
omy of  nature  provides  for  the  premature  death  and 
destruction  of  an  enormously  large  proportion,  no 
more  growing  than  there  is  ample  room  for,  yet  as 
many  as  will  render  the  tree  perfect  and  picturesque. 
So  admirable  is  the  dispensation  of  natural  laws, 
evoking  order  out  of  disorder,  and  making  what  seems 
to  be  injury  and  loss  the  very  means  towards  securing 


EARLY   SPRING.  25 

the  highest  beauty  and  perfection.  Such  is  every- 
where a  grand  characteristic  of  the  works  of  God : 
what  in  our  short-sightedness  appears  defect  and 
blight,  is  in  truth  a  preliminary  step  towards  the 
most  exquisite  and  perfect  design. 
3 


CHAPTER   III. 

APRIL. 

APRIL,  if  the  season  be  moderately  genial,  is  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  months  of  the  English  year. 
Winter,  though  it  may  return  now  and  then  in  bitter 
nights,  is  no  longer  felt  injuriously  during  the  day ;  the 
east  winds  may  blacken  the  poplar-flowers,  and  try  our 
tempers ;  but  spring,  in  defiance  of  all  hindrances, 
pursues  its  way  steadily,  resolutely,  and  with  success. 
Nowhere  is  this  more  beautifully  shown  than  in  the 
vegetation,  of  the  seeds  bequeathed  to  the  soil  in  the 
previous  autumn,  and  which  after  lying  in  the  earth 
apparently  dead  for  many  months,  now  assert  their 
intense  vitality,  and  lift  their  green  blades  into  the  air. 
A  seed  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  things  in  the 
world,  containing  not  only  the  first  principles  of  the 
plant,  but  holding  the  power  to  lie,  as  it  were,  asleep 
until  the  fitting  period,  for  the  expansion  of  the  germ, 
and  meanwhile,  withstanding  influences  of  destruction 
such  as  totally  dissolve  objects  that  have  no  life  in 
them.  When  we  consider  the  exquisite  minuteness 
of  many  seeds,  this  property  becomes  still  more 
amazing.  Peas,  beans,  and  similar  seeds,  though  by 


APRIL.  27 

no  means  the  largest,  are  yet  of  immense  bulk  com 
pared  with  the  seeds  of  the  orchis ;  and  these  last, 
though  so  fine  as  to  be  scarcely  visible  except  in  a 
heap,  are  in  their  turn  probably  as  much  larger  than 
those  of  the  moss.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  in 
the  atmosphere  are  constantly  floating  millions  upon 
millions  of  delicate  germs  ;  that  we  take  these  germs 
into  our  bodies  when  we  breathe ;  that  they  become 
embedded  in  every  species  and  description  of  food  ; 
that  they  are  associated,-  in  a  word,  with  every  con- 
ceivable substance,  and  are  as  universal  in  their 
penetration  as  the  light  of  the  sun.  The  inexpressible 
minuteness  of  every  particular  seed  alone  renders  this 
possible,  and  perhaps  it  is  by  the  minuteness  that  the 
indestructibility  is  partly  insured.  Seeds,  accordingly, 
are  not  to  be  thought  of  merely  in  the  idea  of  those 
we  sow  in  the  garden,  with  a  view  to  wholesome  veg- 
etables and  fragrant  flowers.  These  form  but  a  very 
minute  portion  of  the  entire  quantity ;  and  though 
their  destiny  may  seem  more  dignified,  it  may  be  ques* 
tioned  whether  in  the  economy  of  nature  the  little 
seeds  which  we  never  behold,  do  not  play  a  part  quite 
as  salutary  and  important.  For  in  judging  of  nature 
and  its  processes,  we  err  if  we  think  those  only  to  be 
grand  and  splendid  which  are  promotive  of  benefit  to 
ourselves.  Since  all  things  have  been  created  for  the 
glory  of  God,  an  equal  splendor  attaches  to  every 
phenomenon  and  process,  however  trifling  in  our  eyes, 


28  PHENOMENA   OF  PLANT-LIFE. 

that  conduces  in  any  way  to  the  stability  and  decora- 
tion of  the  general  fabric.  These  tiny  seeds  that  float 
in  the  air,  have  for  their  special  function  the  starting 
of  life  in  places  where  previously  there  was  none. 
The  moment  that  any  surface  previously  bare,  becomes 
moistened  with  rain  or  dew,  they  settle  upon  it  as  bees 
do  upon  flowers.  If  not  burned  up  by  the  sun,  in  a 
little  while  there  is  a  thin  green  film  of  vegetation, 
and  by  and  by  is  seen  a  colony  of  mosses.  Hence, 
upon  the  old  cottage  roof,  especially  if  it  be  of  thatch, 
that  sweet  and  rich  variety  of  tender  leaf  and  blossom. 
Every  spray  is  the  growth  of  a  seed  wafted  thither  by 
the  wind.  It  almost  seems  as  if  the  atmosphere  held 
plants  in  solution,  and  deposited  them  as  a  chemical 
fluid  deposits  crystals. 

But  let  us  inquire  what  a  seed  is  composed  of; 
what  is  the  constitution,  or  at  least,  the  aspect  of 
those  wonderful  parts  which  a  little  rain  and  a  little 
sunshine  can  tempt  into  expansion,  and  by  and  by 
develop  into  a  flower  or  tree.  In  its  most  perfect 
state,  a  seed  consists  of  several  distinct  elements. 
Outside  of  all  is  the  protecting  skin,  by  botanists 
called  the  "  testa;  "  when  this  is  removed,  the  interior 
is  found  to  consist  either  of  two  solid  white  halves, 
usually  flattened  upon  their  inner  surfaces,  as  in  a  pea 
or  bean,  or  it  consists  of  a  quantity  of  white  and  fari- 
naceous matter,  well  represented  in  the  flower  of  a 
grain  of  wheat.  Look  a  little  further,  and  if  the  seed 


APRIL.  29 

be  one  of  the  former  kind,  at  one  extremity,  uniting 
the  two  halves,  is  a  delicate  hinge ;  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  seed  be  like  that  of  the  wheat-grain,  the 
hinge-like  body  is  embedded  in  the  farinaceous  matter. 
The  actual  and  growing  part  of  the  seed  is  this  deli- 
cate little  point  that  we  compare  to  a  hinge.  The 
proper  name  for  it  is  the  "  embryo  ;  "  and  though  the 
remaining  portion  is  indispensable,  from  this  alone  are 
developed  the  stem  and  ultimate  foliage.  The  farina- 
naceous  matter  is  termed  the  "  albumen, "  and  is  the 
food  of  the  embryo  while  germinating,  all  being  con- 
sumed during  the  processes  of  growth,  so  that  when 
the  plant  makes  its  appearance  above  ground,  there  is 
nothing  left  below  but  an  empty  husk.  Seeds  that 
consist  of  two  distinct  halves  have  their  albumen 
wrapped  up  in  the  substance  of  these  two  pieces  ;  and 
then  it  usually  happens  that  at  the  time  of  germina- 
tion, the  seed-leaves  rise  to  the  surface  of  the  soil, 
and  spread  themselves  horizontally.  Their  primary 
function,  however,  is  precisely  the  same,  as  proved 
by  the  experiment  of  breaking  or  tearing  them  off, 
when  the  embryo  almost  immediately  withers  away. 
The  embryo  of  the  seed  is  to  the  plant  what  infant 
offspring  is  to  the  animal ;  and  this  leads  us  to  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  considerations  of  their  history. 
Providence,  in  assigning  duties,  and  conferring  affec- 
tions and  tender  sympathies,  gives  to  the  mother  an 
inexpressible  love  for  her  offspring,  and  impels  her  to 
3* 


30  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

nourish  and  cherish  it ;  and  in  order  that  this  deep  love 
may  exercise  itself  in  the  way  most  needed,  gives  at 
the  same  moment  the  physical  power  of  replenishing 
the  little  life  from  the  fountains  of  her  bosom.  This 
rule,  in  some  mode  or  other,  holds  throughout  the 
whole  extent  of  organic  nature ;  and  strange  as  it 
may  seem  in  the  first  statement,  is  not  absent  even 
from  the  plant ;  for  the  seed  is  the  offspring,  and, 
though  cast  away,  often  to  a  long  distance  from  the 
parent,  is  still  provided  for,  after  the  same  manner  as 
the  tiny  suckling  ;  —  the  embryo  lies  between  the  pair 
of  nutrient  hemispheres,  and  draws  from  them  the 
support  needed  to  its  fragile  existence,  and  which 
alone  it  can  make  use  of.  Not  until  it  is  somewhat 
grown,  and  has  become  hearty,  can  it  feed  indepen- 
dently on  the  earth  and  water  which  surround  it ;  not 
until  those  beautiful  tints  of  tender  green  make  their 
appearance,  can  it  live  except  on  the  supplies  derived 
immediately  from  the  parent.  The  production  of  the 
fruit  or  seed  of  a  plant,  though  in  strict  agreement 
with  the  repetition  of  an  animal  of  any  kind,  under 
the  law  which  has  its  maximum  in  parent  and  child,  is 
thus  not  exactly  equivalent  to  the  birthday  of  the 
offspring.  The  latter,  in  the  plant,  truly  commences 
with  the  process  of  germination,  and  may  be  delayed 
almost  indefinitely. 

The  farinaceous  matter  contained  in  the  seed  dpes 
not  nourish  the  embryo  in  the  crude  form  in  which  we 


APRIL.  31 

find  it  on  dissecting  the  seed  prior  to  the  commence- 
ment of  germination ;  the  latter  process  begins  with 
the  conversion  of  the  farina  into  a  sweet  and  sugary 
fluid,  which  last  is  the  actual  food  of  the  little  plant, 
and  thus  forms  another  point  of  resemblance  between 
the  growing  seed  and  the  young  of  the  lactiparous 
animal.  This  is  very  familiarly  illustrated  in  the 
preparation  of  malt  from  barley,  which  is  begun  by 
sprinkling  the  grain  with  water,  then  warming  it  from 
below,  so  as  to  excite  growth,  and  as  soon  as  the 
sprouts  appear,  increasing  the  heat  so  as  to  destroy 
life.  The  grain,  which  at  first  was  comparatively 
tasteless,  is  by  the  commencement  of  growth  rendered 
sweet,  and  the  result  is  shown  in  the  agreeable  flavor 
of  the  malt.  Phenomena  like  these  are  surely  quite 
as  wonderful  as  those  to  which  we  are  apt  to  confine 
our  admiration,  as  the  movements  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  the  white  tumble  of  the  waterfall,  and  the  roll 
of  the  sea.  We  scarcely  notice  them,  perhaps ;  but 
it  is  on  the  due  effectuation  of  the  great  laws  and 
principles  which  are  expressed  in  such  phenomena, 
that  the  permanency  and  the  grandeur  of  the  world 
depend  no  less  importantly.  Nothing  in  nature  is 
large  or  little,  or  before  or  after  another  in  worth  or 
necessity.  Happy  the  mind  that  tutors  itself  into  the 
recognition  of  the  Divine  wisdom,  not  less  in  the 
arrangements  made  for  the  growth  of  the  minutest 
seed,  than  in  the  majestic  operations  which  give  us 


32  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

light  and  darkness  and  the  seasons !  One  of  the 
greatest  privileges  we  enjoy  in  these  modern  times  is 
the  perception,  in  some  small  degree,  of  these  wonder- 
ful laws  and  processes.  They  were  quite  unknown 
to  the  ancients.  To  them  was  given  only  the  external 
grandeur  of  the  universe,  —  more  than  ample,  without 
doubt,  to  fill  the  soul  of  man  with  rapture  for  ever 
and  ever;  and  though  we  often  speak  of  the  "  good 
old  times/7  and  are  half  inclined  to  wish  that  our  lot 
had  been  cast  with  that  of  the  patriarchs,  these  are 
much  more  really  the  good  times,  when  more  is  spread 
out  by  a  thousandfold  for  the  delight  of  our  intelli- 
gence and  the  inspiration  of  our  fancy;  —  these, 
moreover,  are  really  the  old  times,  for  in  those  that  are 
wrongfully  so  called,  the  world,  and  man,  arid  knowl- 
edge, were  not  old,  but  very  young. 

It  is  a  striking  and  curious  fact  that  very  few  seeds 
are  deleterious,  and  that  those  produced  by  plants 
decidedly  poisonous  are,  nevertheless,  in  many  cases, 
wholesome.  This  is  observable  in  the  seeds  of  certain 
plants  of  the  gourd  kind,  the  juices  of  which  render 
them  quite  unfit  for  human  food,  yet  the  seeds  are 
farinaceous  and  nutritious.  As  odor  is  the  prime  duty 
of  flowers,  so  does  service  for  food  seem  the  essential 
attribute  of  fruits  and  seeds,  and  taken  one  with 
another,  in  truth  there  are  very  few  that  can  be  called 
traitorous.  It  is  further  remarkable  that  plants  which 
secrete  poisonous  matters  do,  in  some  instances,  store 


APRIL.  33 

up  the  venom  specially  in  their  seeds.  Of  this  we 
have  a  conspicuous  instance  in  the  stone-fruit  trees, 
such  as  the  peach,  the  nectarine,  the  cherry,  and  the 
plum.  The  kernels  of  these  are  in  every  instance 
reservoirs  of  the  deadly  poison  called  prussic  acid, 
whence  the  pungent  and  very  peculiar  flavor.  Not 
that  the  poison  is  present  in  such  plenty  as  to  be  inju- 
rious to  the  eater  of  a  few  seeds  ;  but  there  it  is,  stored 
up  by  the  plum  for  some  mysterious  purpose  which 
man  does  not  yet  understand.  What  a  marvellous 
number  of  such  secrets  are  there  !  Books  upon  scien- 
tific subjects  teem  with  knowledge  of  every  conceiv- 
able variety,  and  amazingly  minute  and  accurate,  and 
the  author  often  seems  to  have  exhausted  the  subject ; 
yet  directly  we  come  into  the  presence  of  Nature  her- 
self, we  find  ourselves  lost  in  perplexities,  and  with 
ten  thousand  more  enigmas  than  atoms  of  knowledge  ; 
for,  compared  with  the  undiscovered,  what  we  do  know 
is  only  like  a  few  leaves  from  a  great  forest.  This  is 
one  of  the  great  rewards  of  the  student  of  nature. 
He  discovers  very  soon  that  the  most  learned  cannot 
explain  some  of  the  simplest  things  that  surround 
him ;  thus  that  there  are  innumerable  fields  which  he 
can  traverse,  if  he  will,  as  an  original  explorer,  though 
he  may  never  be  able  to  map  them  out.  It  is  not 
necessary  that  we  should  acquire  this  power  in  order 
to  enjoy  as  we  go  along.  There  is  more  pleasure  in 
the  pursuit  than  in  the  acquisition ;  and  this,  we  may 


34  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

be  sure,  is  why  Infinite  Goodness  has  kept  out  of 
man's  sight,  so  long  as  he  is  an  inhabitant  of  thia 
present  world,  all  those  grand  and  lovely  mysteries 
and  ultimate  facts  of  which  our  actual  knowledge  is 
only  the  apparel. 

'  April  is  the  period  when  the  vital  energy  of  seeds 
is,  in  temperate  countries,  most  vigorously  called 
forth.  Then  the  gardener  deposits  in  the  soil  those 
copious  handfuls  which  in  a  few  weeks  will  show 
themselves  in  wealth  of  young  green  vegetables,  and 
incipient  flowers.  Then,  as  if  at  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet,  innumerable  germs  of  the  wildings  of  the 
field  and  hedgerow  awake  to  life,  and  beautiful  is  the 
spectacle  after  a  few  days  of  sunny  warmth,  when  the 
first  heralds  of  the  season  come  crowding  out  of  the 
dark  ground.  Many  of  our  little  spring  flowers  run 
through  the  whole  history  of  life  before  spring  has 
even  commenced  with  many  of  the  larger  and  tardy 
kinds.  Pretty  little  white-flowered  cresses,  that  do 
not  care  to  grow  taller  than  the  breadth  of  one's  hand, 
come  out  in  the  broad  acres  of  the  cornfields  in  abso- 
lute myriads ;  others  peep  out  of  the  chinks  and  crev- 
ices of  old  walls,  opening  their  square  and  pearly 
blossoms,  and  ripening  their  miniature  seed-pods, 
while  the  stately  plants  in  the  garden  are  scarcely 
aroused.  Every  season  is,  in  fact,  an  epitome  of  all 
seasons  ;  and  in  a  single  afternoon's  walk,  when  nature 
is  active,  the  history  of  the  whole  year  is  found  enacted 


APRIL.  35 

by  one  plant  or  another.  The  gush  of  new  life  is  most 
marked,  nevertheless,  at  the  period  we  are  consider- 
ing, just  as  autumn  is  emphatically  marked  by  ripe 
results. 

Those  seeds  in  which  two  distinct  halves  form  the 
great  mass  of  the  contents,  are  proved  by  this  struc- 
ture to  belong  to  one  of  the  great  primary  classes  into 
which  all  flowering  plants  whatever  are  divisible. 
This  is  a  very  interesting  fact  to  take  note  of  when  at 
work  in  the  garden.  While  trimming  our  borders  and 
plucking  up  the  weeds,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be 
struck  with  the  appearance  of  these  little  coupled 
leaves,  and  in  observing  them  we  unconsciously 
become  familiar  with  one  of  the  leading  particulars  of 
vegetable  structure.  When  the  seed  produces  a  pair 
of  seed-leaves,  with  an  embryo,  we  know  from  that 
little  circumstance,  trifling  as  it  may  appear  in  itself, 
that  should  it  grow  to  be  a  tree,  it  will  have  branches, 
and  boughs,  and  twigs,  —  not  like  a  palm-tree,  which 
is  destitute  of  these  parts,  but  like  an  oak,  or  an  elm, 
or  a  birch.  Further,  we  know  that  the  leaves  and  the 
flowers  will  both  have  a  specific  structure  ;  in  a  word, 
that  the  whole  idea  of  the  tree  will  be  marked  by  a 
speciality  of  organic  form.  When,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  seed  is  formed  like  a  grain  of  wheat,  containing  a 
large  quantity  of  free  farina,  and  only  one  seed-leaf, 
we  know  that  the  stem  will  be  branchless,  the  leaves 
and  flowers,  again,  with  a  speciality  quite  different  from 


36  IHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

that  of  the  others,  and  that  the  second  great  primary 
idea  of  botanic  form  is  there  beginning.  There  is 
only  one  other  kind  of  seed,  that  adverted  to  above, 
as  impalpably  minute,  and  floating  about  in  the  air  in 
millions.  This  is  the  form  produced  by  plants  which, 
like  ferns,  are  destitute  of  genuine  flowers.  Internally 
they  are  different,  —  they  sprout  in  a  different  manner ; 
they  indicate  the  third  and  last  of  the  great  types  of 
the  world  of  plants.  Now  look  to  the  history  of  the 
creation  of  trees  and  plants.  Three  distinct  classes 
are  enumerated  by  the  inspired  writer,  and  learned 
and  pious  men  have  been  led  from  this  circumstance 
to  believe  that  at  the  very  gateway  of  Holy  Writ 
there  is  set  forth  the  great  principle  of  triplicity  which 
science  in  these  latter  ages  has  demonstrated.  So 
grandly  do  all  things  lock  together !  Almost  the  last 
objects  we  should  look  to  for  a  commentary  on  a 
statement  in  Genesis  are  the  sprouting  seeds  in  April ; 
yet  in  these  seeds  are  announced  differences  in  the 
plants  that  rise  from  them,  that  every  day  makes  more 
and  more  obvious,  and  which  at  last  seem  to  bear  out 
the  language  that  cannot  err. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

LEAVES. 

THE  development  of  the  leaves  of  plants,  is  the 
happiest  sight  of  spring.  Flowers  are  rarely  plentiful 
enough  to  give  expression  to  more  than  a  very  limited 
space  at  once,  and  although  many  living  creatures, 
birds  especially,  make  their  renewed  appearance  at 
this  season,  it  is  never  with  such  power  and  with  such 
continuousness  of  effect.  That  which  is  true  of  the 
little,  is  always,  in  that  circumstance,  representatively 
true  of  the  large,  and  thus,  what  becomes  so  obvious 
after  a  moment's  thought  in  respect  to  the  spring  ver- 
dure of  our  own  country,  is  true  in  an  extended  sense 
of  the  whole  world,  at  least  of  every  part  of  it  which 
produces  conspicuous  vegetation ;  —  it  is  the  green 
part  of  plants  that  gives  expression  to  the  landscape. 
Of  course  there  are  the  grand  physiognomical  features, 
the  mountains,  rivers,  waterfalls,  and  so  forth ;  but 
the  living  beauty  and  appeal  of  the  landscape,  come  of 
the  particular  kind  of  verdure  that  may  pertain  to  it ; 
in  England  meadows  and  pastures,  green  all  the  year 
round,  —  in  northern  Europe  innumerable  pine  and  fir 
trees,  —  along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  vast 


38  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

numbers  of  the  plants  belonging  to  the  great  race 
which  includes  rosemary  and  lavender,  —  in  Central 
America  strange  and  uncouth  forms  of  cactus,  —  at 
the  Cape  of  G  ood  Hope,  heaths  and  evergreens  almost 
countless.  In  no  degree  surprising,  then,  is  it  to  find 
a  special  season  so  beautifully  characterized ;  the  idea 
that  gives  lineaments  to  the  whole  world  is  that  which 
operates  to  make  our  April  and  May  so  sweet  and  re- 
freshing. 

There  is  considerable  difference  in  the  period  at  which 
the  leaves  of  trees  and  plants  unfold.  So  considera- 
ble is  it  that  almanacs  have  frequently  been  construct- 
ed in  which  the  succession  of  days  has  been  denoted 
by  the  citation  of  the  trees  which  on  the  days  indicat- 
ed, or  thereabouts,  expand  their  buds,  and  unfold  their 
leaves.  Such  an  almanac  can  never  be  made  a  uni- 
versal one,  because  differences  of  latitude,  and  diver- 
sities of  climate  even  in  the  same  latitude,  materially 
aftect  the  time  of  commencement.  But  the  sequence  is 
always  the  same,  or  pretty  nearly  so,  reminding  us  of 
what  is  observable  in  the  sky.  The  stars,  by  other 
persons,  are  from  no  point  of  view,  that  is  at  all  dis- 
tant from  our  own,  seen  in  exactly  the  same  places 
that  we  see  them  ;  their  places  relatively  to  one  another 
are  nevertheless,  always  identical.  In  one  part  of 
England  a  tree  may  open  its  leaves  by  the  1st  of 
March,  and  another,  alongside  of  it,  not  till  April  1. 
In  a  different  part  the  first-named  tree  may  be  a  month 


LEAVES.  39 

later,  and  then  the  second  will  be  a  month  later,  like- 
wise. One  of  the  very  earliest  to  expand  its  foliage, 
is  the  balsam-poplar.  The  buds  of  this  are  covered 
with  aromatic  resin,  so  that  with  the  evolution  of  the 
yellow  tips,  the  air  becomes  loaded  with  fragrance, 
and  very  delightful  is  it  to  perceive  the  presence  of 
the  tree  when  going  along  quietly  after  dark,  by  the 
richness  of  the  odor  that  presently  meets  our  nostrils. 
The  foliage  when  it  first  comes  out,  is  remarkable  for 
its  yellowness.  This  tint  is  so  far  from  uncommon, 
that  it  may  be  regarded  as  the  normal  and  character- 
istic color  of  very  young  foliage,  and  of  such  as  has 
not  been  exposed  to  the  full  influence  of  the  solar 
light ;  in  the  balsam-poplar,  however,  it  is  specially 
noticeable.  After  a  few  days,  when  the  warmth  and 
brightness  of  the  sun's  rays  have  made  themselves 
felt,  the  leaves  acquire  the  ordinary  green  hue.  The 
influence  of  light  in  thus  giving  color  to  vegetable 
matter,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  and  beautiful  opera- 
tions that  we  can  witness  in  surveying  nature.  Let 
any  fruit  be  half  concealed  by  thick  foliage,  and  it  re- 
mains pale.  If  a  stone  lie  upon  the  lawn  or  anywhere 
conceal  the  grass,  on  removing  it,  the  space  that  was 
covered  is -found  to  be  destitute  of  true  green.  In  a 
few  days,  however,  all  is  changed ;  the  sun,  like  a 
great  magician,  touches  what  was  so  pallid  with  his 
beams  of  enchantment,  and  rich  and  glorious  hues  are 
almost  immediately  called  forth.  Everywhere,  in  the 


40  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

natural,  no  less  than  in  the  moral  world,  Light  is  the 
great  life-bringer.  Without  it,  there  is  no  permanent 
and  deep-lying  beauty.  Well  may  all  nations,  in  all 
ages,  have  called  wisdom  by  the  name  of  Light,  error 
and  ignorance  by  the  name  of  Darkness,  and  trans- 
ferred the  names  of  Light  and  Brightness,  to  whatever 
is  happy  and  holy. 

After  the  balsam-poplar,  and  almost  as  soon,  some- 
times,  perhaps,  contemporaneously,  come  out  the  syca- 
more and  the  horse-chestnut.  In  all  these  early  trees 
there  is,  however,  a  very  noticeable  difference  in 
promptitude ;  that  is  to  say,  some  individuals  are 
many  days  earlier  than  others,  so  that  in  the  same 
hedgerow  or  plantation,  while  many  are  only  prepar- 
ing, here  and  there,  one  will  be  seen  in  long  advance. 
The  buds  of  the  sycamore  are  shaped  like  almonds, 
and  externally  pink ;  the  leaves  which  they  enclose, 
are  folded  up  like  a  lady's  fan,  and  gradually  flatten 
out,  though  it  is  several  weeks  before  they  become 
fully  developed.  Contrariwise,  those  of  the  horse- 
chestnut  are  the  color  of  mahogany,  and  instead  of  be- 
ing smooth  and  downy,  are  coated  with  viscid  matter, 
the  purpose  of  which  appears  to  be  further  protection 
of  the  contents  from  the  cold  of  winter.  Here,  again, 
the  young  leaves  are  folded  up  like  a  lady's  fan ;  every 
fold  straight  and  symmetrical,  while  in  the  centre  is 
the  rudiment  of  that  noble  cluster  of  flowers,  which 
by-and-by,  is  to  help  to  light  up  this  magnificent  tree 


LEAVES.  41 

as  if  with  an  ancient  alabaster  lamp.  Often,  when  I 
have  been  peering  into  these  buds,  with  their  simple 
and  beautiful  prophecy,  have  I  thought  what  a  pretty 
likeness  they  present  to  the  opening  heart  and  soul  of 
a  child  !  First  come  forth  the  little  green  and  inno- 
cent thoughts  and  expressions,  that  excite  a  smile  and 
invite  a  kiss.  Presently,  when  we  scarcely  expect,  we 
hear  some  old-fashioned  and  quaint  remark,  that  shows 
what  a  marvellous  power  is  at  work  in  that  little  brain, 
and  that  beautifully  prefigures  and  pre-signifies  the 
glory  of  the  intellect  that  will  in  due  time  be  displayed 
to  view.  Look  next  at  that  handsome  white-beam, 
covered  with  buds  that,  except  near  towns,  are  whiter 
than  those  of  any  other  native  plant.  We  do  not 
call  it  white-beam  tree,  simply  "white-beam/7  since 
"beam  "  is  an  old  word  signifying  tree,  as  illustrated 
also  in  the  name  of  the  horn-beam.  The  whiteness  is 
given  by  abundant  fine  cottony  down  upon  the  under 
surface,  —  the  latter  being  the  only  one  exposed  to 
view.  Here,  again,  the  primitive  condition  of  the 
leaf,  is  that  of  the  lady's  fan.  By  this  disposition  of 
the  parts,  the  strong  ribs  are  all  thrown  to  the  outside, 
and  the  delicate  tissues  are  protected  within.  There 
is  work  for  an  entire  spring,  with  those  who  are  cu- 
rious in  nature's  mysteries,  with  the  various  methods 
in  which  leaves  are  folded  before  they  expand.  They 
are  always  plainly  seen  by  cutting  the  bud  crossways 
with  a  sharp-edged  knife.  Sometimes,  instead  of  being 
4* 


42  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

doubled  up  fan-wise,  the  leaf  is  rolled  up  like  a  scroll 
of  paper, —  a  plan  varied  by  beginning  from  the  edges, 
or  beginning  from  the  centre.  Sometimes  the  leaf  is 
rolled  up  from  the  apex  downwards  and  inwards  ;  and 
sometimes  it  is  doubled  up  in  a  curious  way  that  can 
be  compared  only  to  a  succession  of  saddles,  placed 
one  upon  the  other,  and  with  an  opposite  set  similarly 
packed  together.  And  these  peculiarities  are  peculiar 
to  their  own  races,  so  that  a  single  one  will  declare  to 
the  experienced  eye,  almost  as  much  as  the  fully 
formed  leaf.  Cherry  and  plum  trees  may  thus  be  dis- 
tinguished from  one  another,  before  there  is  a  speck 
of  either  green  or  white  on  their  dark-hued  boughs. 

The  trees  that  come  out  next  are  the  beech,  the  al- 
der, and  the  lime.  The  buds  of  the  beech  resemble 
long  brown  thorns.  If  we  open  one  of  them  carefully, 
the  rudimentary  leaves  may  be  distinctly  seen, —  every 
leaf  folded  fan-wise,  and  completely  covered  with 
straight  white  hairs,  that  seem  atoms  of  the  finest  silk. 
The  brown  sheaths  that  cover  them  up  are  also  ex- 
ceedingly delicate  ;  the  sheaths  that  lie  next  the  leaves 
are  pink,  and  when  the  foliage  is  pretty  well  opened, 
present  a  charming  contrast  of  colors.  The  silky 
hairs  also  remain  for  a  long  time,  so  that  new  beech 
leaves  may  be  identified  by  their  presence,  especially 
as  a  large  portion  form  a  kind  of  fringe  to  the  leaf, 
after  the  manner  of  the  eyelashes  along  the  eyelid. 
The  fair  green  emerald  light  of  a  young  wood  is  with- 


LEAVES.  43 

out  parallel.  No  place  is  more  lovely  in  spring,  — 
that  is,  as  soon  as  the  leaves  are  tolerably  out ;  the 
ground  is  always  dry,  and  the  grasses  are  usually  of 
slender  kinds,  quite  different  from  those  of  the  mead- 
ows. It  is  the  beech  that  is  so  celebrated  by  the 
poets,  as  the  tree  suited  for  carving  letters  and  names 
upon.  The  smooth  bark  adapts  it  for  this  purpose, 
better  than  that  of  any  other  tree  ;  and  not  only  for 
human  and  veritable  writing  or  carving,  but  for  a  very 
beautiful  imitative  writing,  produced  by  a  minute  plant 
of  the  lichen  kind,  called  Opegrapha.  This  little  plant 
presents  itself  in  the  shape  of  dark  and  irregular  lines, 
so  exactly  simulating  Hebrew  or  Arabic  characters, 
that  we  might  almost  fancy  them  to  have  been  in- 
scribed by  some  mortal  penman.  Where,  among  the 
works  and  inventions  of  man,  —  his  ingenious  devices 
and  clever  adaptations,  —  shall  we  find  something  in 
which  nature  has  not  anticipated  him  ?  Nature,  fresh 
from  the  hand  of  God,  is  the  storehouse  at  once  of  all 
grand  and  beautiful  ideas  ;  and  the  Fine-Arts  Exhibi- 
tion, beforehand,  of  everything  that  human  skill  con- 
trives. 

After  these  come  the  oak  and  the  ash,  the  former 
with  innumerable  buds  of  an  amber-brown,  and  by  no 
means  remarkably  large ;  the  other,  with  buds  of  a 
sooty-black  color,  and  found  chiefly  towards  the  ex- 
tremities of  the  twigs.  The  ash  is  one  of  the  late 
risers  ;  seldom  green  all  over  until  June,  and  hence, 


44  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

along  with  the  mulberry,  and  some  other  trees  that 
are  very  slow,  made  by  the  ancients  the  emblem  of 
prudence.  When  they  come  in  leaf,  all  danger  of  late 
spring  frosts  is  considered  to  be  gone  by,  and  the  tree 
is  safe  from  damage.  In  looking  for  the  buds  of  the 
ash,  we  cannot  fail  to  be  struck  (in  most  of  the  trees) 
with  the  very  odd  appearance  of  the  flowers.  These, 
while  young,  resemble  clusters  of  ripe  blackberries ; 
afterwards  they  open  out  into  branching  sprays  of  a 
peculiar  blackish-olive  color.  In  structure  they  are 
the  simplest  known  to  occur  among  trees.  The  sta- 
mens and  the  pistil  (the  parts  which  produce  the 
seed),  that  in  other  plants  are  protected  so  carefully, 
here  are  left  without  any  fence  whatever ;  yet  the 
tree  never  fails  to  be  covered  plentifully  with  ripe 
seed,  as  though  independent  of  all  asperities  of  weath- 
er, and  with  power  to  triumph  over  every  hindrance 
and  deficiency.  These  exceptions  to  the  usual  order 
of  things  in  nature,  form  one  of  its  most  striking  char- 
acteristics, and  are  more  wonderful,  it  appears  to  me, 
as  an  illustration  of  the  Divine  wisdom,  than  even  the 
method  and  symmetry  with  which  they  stand  in  such 
powerful  contrast.  They  show,  as  it  were,  with  such 
a  grand  independence,  so  self-containedly,  that  Infi- 
nite Wisdom,  though  it  has  chosen  to  construct  the 
great  mass  of  nature  according  to  a  given  plan,  is  yet 
quite  us  much  at  home  with  plans  and  arrangements 
quite  the  opposite  ;  and  that  what  we  suppose  to  be 


LEAVES.  45 

the  necessities  and  positive  requirements  of  things  are 
the  necessities  only  of  the  individuals  in  which  we  be- 
hold them.  Step  a  little  further,  and  some  other  thing 
dispenses  with  them,  and  yet  flourishes,  and  is  as 
grand  and  comely  in  default  as  if  in  possession ;  and 
that  which  we  fancied  to  be  the  law,  is  shown  to  be 
only  one  of  the  ways  in  which  a  higher  and  greater 
law  that  we  cannot  reach  to,  is  effectuated.  The  ap- 
parent inconsistencies  of  nature  all  meet  under  some 
higher  synthesis  of  order  which  includes  both  the 
common  and  usual  thing,  and  that  which  to  our  dim 
eyesight,  seems  the  exception  or  the  contravention. 

The  leaves  of  herbaceous  plants  make  their  appear- 
ance according  to  a  similarly  definite  sequence.  We 
do  not  notice  them  because  they  are  so  near  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  whereas  the  branches  of  the  trees  are  el- 
evated high  in  air.  Sweet  is  the  spectacle  on  a  warm  af- 
ternoon in  April,  when  we  wander  down  by  some  trott- 
ing burn,  where  early  primroses,  daffodils,  and  anem- 
ones mix  their  fantasy ;  where  the  first  violets  seem 
blue  eyes,  and  the  lustrous  coltsfolt  glows  in  rays  of 
yellow  gold  ;  —  sweet  is  it  to  note  the  little  leaves  of 
a  thousand  summer-plants  that,  not  behind  time,  for 
it  is  their  nature  to  take  their  turn,  but  that  in  all 
promptitude  are  creeping  out  of  the  soil,  spreading 
like  green  lace  among  the  taller  ones,  and  making 
green  stars  that  have  buds  for  the  living  centre. 
The  colors,  too,  are  as  varied  as  those  of  the  leaves  of 


46  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

trees,  and  usually  more  lucid.     While  in  this  young 
state,  the  leaves  of  herbaceous  plants  often  supply  re- 
markably good  illustrations  of  some  parts  of  the  inter- 
nal structure.     The  tissues  are  open  and  succulent ; 
the  general  substance  is  more  transparent  than  later 
on,  and  the  skin  allows  of  our  seeing  those  delicate 
little   openings,   called   "  stomates,"   through  which 
moisture  is  transfused,  and  communication  maintained 
with  the  atmosphere.     Leaves,  in  their  composition, 
are  threefold.      First,   there  is  a   delicate   skeleton, 
composed  of  fibres  of  woody  matter,  with  sap  and  air- 
vessels  running  alongside  ;  the  interstices  of  the  skel- 
eton or  general  framework,  are  filled  up  with  green 
pulp,  formed  of  innumerable  cells  containing  fluid; 
and   over  the  whole,  on  both  sides  of  the  leaf,  is 
spread  a  transparent  skin,  that  serves  to  protect  the 
tender  subjacent  parts.     In  itself,  the  substance  of 
the  leaf  is  colorless.     The  delicious  and  varied  greens, 
the   deep-hued   spots,   the   variegations,   the    bands, 
lines,  and  so  forth,  of  different  hues  that  it  presents, 
come  wholly  of  the  sap  contained  in  the  cells,  which 
assumes  one  color  or  another  when  the  sun  shines 
upon  it,  according  to  the  matter  secreted  in  it,  by  the 
vital  economy  of  the  plant. ;   The  same  is  true  of  the 
petals  of  flowers.     The  tissue  itself,  is  totally  devoid 
of  color.     The  blue,  scarlet,  and  yellow,  comepf  the 
deposit  in  the  respective  cells  of  fluid,  competent  to 
acquire  those  tints  when  acted  upon  by  the  solar  ray. 


LEAVES.  47 

How  some  cells  should  have  power  to  secrete  fluid 
that  shall  take  a  definite  color,  and  no  other,  is  one  of 
those  mysteries  which  at  present  seem  quite  beyond 
our  ken.  The  day  may  come  when  it  will  be  known. 
Happily  nature  is  full  of  such  enigmas.  They  allure 
us  onwards,  for  to  the  true  student  of  nature,  a  mystery 
is  something  to  be  unriddled,  just  as  to  the  true  worker 
a  "  difficulty  "  is  something  that  has  to  be  surmounted. 
It  is  well  that  we  are  surrounded  by  things  seemingly 
inscrutable.  Enterprise  and  imagination  are  alike  in- 
vigorated by  them.  The  amount  of  our  consciousness 
of  the  unfathomed,  is  a  capital  test  of  our  condition, 
for  if  we  cease  to  feel  the  weight  of  mystery,  we  are 
ceasing  to  improve.  To  be  satisfied  with  things  as 
they  seem  to  be,  and  to  have  no  care  or  curiosity  as 
to  their  nature  and  significance,  is  to  be  stranded  like 
a  ship  upon  the  shore.  Life  is  active  in  our  own 
souls  in  precisely  the  degree  that  we  hear  it  uttering 
itself  in  a  thousand  languages  outside. 


CHAPTEE    V. 

THE   STRUCTURE   OF  FLOWERS. 

THOUGH  a  flower,  like  a  sea-shell,  seems  one  of  the 
simplest  things  in  nature,  there  are  few  objects  that, 
narrowly  looked  at,  prove  to  be  organized  more  elab- 
orately. To  produce  the  flower,  is  the  aim  and  effort 
of  all  the  vital  energies  of  the  plant,  from  the  moment 
when  it  first  creeps  out  of  the  earth  as  a  tiny  seedling. 
For  the  sake  of  the  flower  the  roots  take  up  nourish- 
ment from  the  soil,  and  the  leaves,  that  wonderful 
and  invisible  food  with  which  the  atmosphere  is 
charged  on  their  behalf.  For  the  sake  of  the  flow- 
er the  plant  struggles  with  the  asperities  of  the 
winter,  and  responds,  in  the  unspoken  gratitude  of  a 
beautiful  life,  to  the  sweet  influences  and  sympathies 
of  the  summer.  All  its  energies  and  activities  have 
relation  to  the  flower  as  their  final  issue,  and  well 
may  the  petals  be  so  lustrous,  the  odor  so  ravishing 
and  balmy. 

The  root,  the  stem  and  branches,  and  the  foliage  or 
leaves  of  a  plant,  are  concerned  solely  in  the  nutrition 
of  the  individual ;  they  prepare  and  consolidate  the 
material  of  which  the  general  fabric  is  composed  ; 


THE   STRUCTURE   OF  FLOWERS.  49 

they  maintain  it  in  its  position  in  the  ground,  and  en- 
able it  to  withstand  the  storm  and  tempest.  The  suc- 
cessive and  regular  development  of  these  parts,  sea- 
son after  season,  constitutes  the  growth  of  the  plant ; 
and  their  unceasing  self-employment  in  various  vital 
processes,  gives  us  those  hugfc,  masses  of  woody  fibre 
that  constitute  timber;  the  innumerable  secretions 
that  we  extract  from  plants,  in  the  form  of  oils,  sugar, 
starch)  and  so  forth ;  those,  also,  that  render  the 
bark  and  the  leaves  of  different  species  valuable,  eith- 
er to  the  physician,  when  he  would  prescribe  medi- 
cine, or  to  the  dyer,  when  he  would  give  color  to  the 
products  of  the  loom.  The  functions  of  these  parts 
—  the  root,  stem,  and  leaves — are  thus  purely  of  a 
local  or  personal  kind ;  they  have  no  direct  relation 
to  the  perpetuating  of  the  plant,  and  hence  they  are 
distinguished  by  botanists  under  the  name  of  "  nutri- 
tive. "  Very  different  are  the  functions  and  the  pur- 
poses of  the  flower.  Here,  instead  of  the  aim  and  ex- 
penditure being  concentrated  to  the  well-being  of  the 
individual,  the  design  has  reference  to  the  race.  The 
flower  is  produced,  in  other  words,  not  so  much  for 
the  good  of  the  plant  which  it  so  much  ornaments,  as 
for  the  sake  of  the  species ;  and  thus,  derivatively, 
for  the  beauty  and  verdure  of  the  earth.  Hence  the 
parts  of  which  it  is  composed  are  technically  distin- 
guished as  "reproductive/'  All  plants  die  some 
time.  Every  living  thing  has  its  lease  of  existence. 
5 


50  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

Some  forms  run  through  their  little  span  in  a  few 
weeks,  perhaps  in  a  few  days ;  others  endure  for 
months,  years,  ages ;  yea,  scores  of  ages,  as  happens 
with  those  gigantic  American  trees  that  seem  appoint- 
ed to  watch  the  rise  and  fall  of  nations  ;  but  all  ap- 
pear to  have  a  definite  period  assigned  to  them,  or  at 
all  events,  a  maximum  of  perfection,  after  attaining 
which  they  decay  with  less  or  greater  quickness. 
This  is  the  primary  reason  why  flowers  exist.  Since 
plants  die,  as  other  things  do,  sooner  or  later,  unless 
there  were  special  arrangements  made  for  their  re- 
newal, the  earth,  in  a  few  centuries  at  furthest,  would 
become  bare  of  vegetation,  and  the  surface  be  like 
those  dreary  plains  of  sand  in  northern  Africa,  which 
a  fanciful  author  thinks  are  the  exhausted  seats  of  the 
world's  first  life.  It  is  not  that  the  plant  has  a  lease 
like  that  which  the  landlord  determines  with  his  ten- 
ant. Such  is  not  the  case  either,  with  the  lease  of 
life  in  animals.  The  idea  of  the  lease  in  both  classes 
of  nature,  is  that  of  a  certain  relative  length  of  life, 
which  may  be  abridged  or  extended  according  to  cir- 
cumstances, but  the  term  of  which  is  as  certainly 
fixed,  as  that  of  the  summer,  which  may  be  cut  short 
by  cold  rains  and  early  frosts,  or  last  with  a  calm, 
sweet  glow  of  warmth  and  lovely  hues,  till  it  is  time 
almost,  to  think  of  Christmas.  Coming  to  this  inevi- 
table termination,  seeds  must  be  produced  in  order 
that  a  new  generation  shall  arise ;  the  seed  is  the 


THE   STRUCTURE   OF   FLOWERS.  51 

product  of  the  flower,  and  the  flower  is  thus  the  fore- 
runner, and  at  the  same  moment,  the  repairer,  of  de- 
cay. 

This  matter  of  the  lease  of  life,-  is  full  of  pleasing 
suggestions,  and  involves  the  consideration  of  innu- 
merable facts.  It  is  worth  noting  that  in  plants,  as 
in  man,  life  consists  of  three  great  periods,  two  of 
which,  the  first  and  last,  God  keeps  in  His  own  hands, 
disposing  them  after  His  own  wisdom,  while  the  third 
or  intermediate  one,  is  left  for  man  to  deal  with,  or  at 
least  cooperatively.  The  first  period  is  infancy  and 
youth,  which  cannot  be  abided  in  by  any  man,  or  how 
many  would  stay  there  forever !  The  last  is  old  age, 
when,  having  reached  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  and 
the  valley  of  the  dark  shadow  lies  dimly  below,  with 
all  our  effort  we  cannot  help  sliding  thither.  The 
middle  one  is  that  glorious  period,  when,  full  in  stat- 
ure, and  enriched  with  all  good  gifts,  we  feel  and 
relish  the  splendors  of  life  ;  —  this  one  it  is  allotted  us 
to  lengthen  out  almost  as  we  please,  carrying  fresh- 
ness of  thought  and  feeling,  which  are  youth,  past  as 
as  many  birthdays  as  suffice  to  see  a  chestnut  grow 
from  a  sapling  into  a  forest  patrician.  This  middle 
period  every  man  holds  comparatively  in  his  own 
power.  Giving  his  soul  to  wisdom  and  manly  affec- 
tions, he  finds  therein  the  elixir  vitce  that  the  alche- 
mists sought  in  vain ;  and  though  the  third  and  con- 
cluding period  comes  to  him  not  less  certainly  than  to 
all  others,  it  is  brief  and  serene. 


52  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

Flowers,  then,  are  reproductive  or  seed-producing 
apparatus.  They  are  ordinarily  so  lovely,  so  varied, 
so  rich,  so  alluring,  because  of  the  dignity  of  their 
office.  That  in  nature  which  has  noble  duties  as- 
signed it,  is  always  embellished  in  a  way  that  befits 
the  noble  purpose.  Men  do  just  the  same  when  they 
place  a  crown  of  gold  and  a  purple  robe  upon  that  one 
of  themselves  that  they  choose  for  king.  To  maintain 
the  living  flow  of  beauty  of  tree  and  flower  upon  the 
earth,  is  as  much  grander  than  simply  to  grow  stout 
and  leafy,  as  it  is  for  a  man  to  seek  to  delight  and  il- 
luminate those  around  him,  (so  far  as  the  munificence 
of  God  gives  power,)  instead  of  simply  seeking  his 
own  profit.  This  is  recognized  accordingly  in  the 
forms  of  flowers,  so  exquisitely  symmetrical  in  the 
delicacy  of  their  tints,  and  in  their  lavish  profusion, 
all  of  which  become  characteristics  of  honor  and  dig- 
nity to  the  plant,  and  mark  the  period  of  its  highest 
value  in  return.  Taking  the  flower  to  pieces,  it  is 
found,  when  in  its  most  perfectly  developed  condition, 
to  consist  of  four  distinct  sets  of  parts,  every  one  of 
which  has  its  own  especial  province.  Look  at  a  rose- 
bud when  just  about  to  open,  and  it  is  wholly  green. 
The  green  portion  is  the  "calyx,"  or  chalice,  enclosing 
everything  else,  falling  back  when  the  contents  are 
ready  to  burst  forth,  and  remaining  usually  till  the 
seed  is  ripe,  though  sometimes  cast  to  the  ground. 
It  is  a  beautiful  sight  when  the  component  pieces  of 


THE   STRUCTURE   OF  FLOWERS.  53 

the  calyx  begin  to  separate,  opening  like  the  sweet, 
soft  eyelids  of  a  little  child,  when  it  looks  forth  again 
after  the   peace   of   its   scarcely-breathing    slumber. 
With  the  first  slight  push  from  within,  the  green  sep- 
arates, and  a  line  of  crimson  gleams  in  the  space ;  by 
degrees  the  fissure  widens,  and  in  due  time,  like  the 
opening  of  the  portals  of  some  glorious  temple,  all  is 
thrown  back,  and  the  petals  stream  out  in  their  match- 
less hue.     The  same  with  the  poppy.     Two  concave 
leaves  clasp  the  inner  secrets  in  their  green  embrace, 
and  the  bud  hangs  with  its  head  to  the  earth  until  all 
is  ready.     Then  the  line  of  crimson  announces  what 
is  coming,  and  great  scarlet  petals,  that  flaunt  like 
banners,  are  disclosed.     Similarly  the  peony  unpacks 
great  round  green  balls,  and  every  other  plant  its  pe- 
culiar cluster  or  bunch,  —  everything  creeping  out  of 
this  "  calyx,"  in  the  first  place,  and  seldom  discard- 
ing it,  though  the  special  utility  has  ceased.     Some- 
times the  calyx,  instead  of  being  green,  is  highly  col- 
ored, emulating  the  most  dainty  parts  of  the  interior 
of  the  flower.     This  happens  in  the  common  fuchsia, 
which  has  a  calyx  of  four  pieces,  coherent  by  their 
edges,  so  as  to  form  an  oval  and  crimson  bag,  which 
yields  to  the  pressure  of  the  fingers.     In  other  plants, 
again,  the  calyx  is  extremely  minute,  so  small  as  to 
be  incapable  of  giving  adequate  protection;  —  then 
the  protective  purpose  is  subserved  by  special  leafy 
coverings  called  "bracts,"  as  we  may  plainly  see  in 

5* 


54  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

the  great  purple  and  cone-like  buds  of  the  rhododen- 
dron, which  are  built  up  wholly  of  bracts  and  flowers 
within. 

Next  in  order  of  position  to  the  calyx,  come  the 
"petals."  These  are  the  parts  which  it  is  usual  to 
call  the  "leaves"  of  the  flower;  but  the  term  is  in- 
correct. Leaves  are  the  green  organs  which  prepare 
the  food  of  the  plant,  arid  in  the  aggregate  constitute 
the  foliage.  These  colored  portions  are  of  totally  dif- 
ferent function,  and  in  texture  and  substance,  are  also 
quite  unlike.  They  should  no  more  be  called 
"leaves,"  than  fingers  should  be  called  toes,  but 
always  be  denominated  by  their  special  name  of 
"petals."  Collectively  they  constitute  the  "corol- 
la," literally  the  little  crown,  %.  e.  as  signifying  that 
the  expansion  of  the  flower  is  like  the  placing  of  the 
diadem  on  the  brows  of  a  monarch.  There  may  be  a 
literal  truthfulness  in  the  name  as  well,  depending  on 
the  resemblance  of  the  circular  cup,  found  in  certain 
descriptions  of  flowers,  to  the  golden  circlet  that 
forms  the  essential  portion  of  a  crown  or  coronet. 
But  names  such  as  these  have  generally  an  inner  and 
higher  meaning.  They  were  imposed  by  men  in  the 
beginning  from  a  better  ground  than  simple  compari- 
son ;  they  sprang  from  that  intuitive  perception  of 
the  original  harmonies  of  things,  in  which  all  the  best 
and  most  living  part  of  language,  finds  its  begininng 
and  it's  explanation.  The  corolla,  like  the  calyx,  is  sim- 


THE   STRUCTURE   OF  FLOWERS.  55 

ply  protective,  or,  at  all  events,  only  auxiliary  to  the 
main  intent.  Just  as  the  calyx  wraps  up  all  that  lies 
interior  to  it,  so  do  the  petals  enfold  still  more  inte- 
rior parts,  those,  namely,  which  are  directly  concerned 
in  preparing  the  seed,  and  which  botanists  call  the 
stamens  and  the  pistil.  The  pistil  is  that  slender  column 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  flower,  which  has  for  its  ped- 
estal the  rudimentary  seed-pod  ;  the  stamens  are  the 
delicate  pillars  which  stand  around  it,  every  one  of 
them  tipped  with  a  little  bead-like  head.  Both  parts 
vary  considerably  in  number  and  size.  Sometimes 
there  is  but  a  single  stamen  ;  sometimes  there  are  not 
less  than  five  hundred  stamens,  as  happens  in  the 
Rose-of-Sharon.  The  same  is  the  case  with  the  pis- 
tils, which  vary  in  number  from  one,  which  is  most 
usual,  up  to  a  hundred  or  more,  as  in  the  strawberry. 
These  two  sets  of  organs,  by  their  cooperation,  give 
origin  to  the  seed.  The  rudiment  of  the  latter  is  con- 
tained in  the  ovary,  which  forms  the  base  of  the  pis- 
til ;  the  stamens,  for  their  part,  discharge  a  fine  pow- 
der, called  the  pollen,  which  being  received  upon  the 
upper  extremity  of  the  pistil,  thence  has  its  virtue 
conveyed  downwards  into  the  ovary,  and  so  commu- 
nicated to  the  potential  seed.  Unless  this  process  be 
effectuated,  the  rudiments  of  the  seed  undergo  no 
change.  They  never  swell  in  the  slightest  degree, 
remaining  mere  shells,  and  unless  some  portion  of  the 
ovules  become  fertilized,  the  whole  of  the  ovary  gen- 


56  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

erally  withers  away,  and  drops  to  the  ground.  Ovules 
that  have  not  been  fertilized,  are  often  found  side  by 
side  with  others  that  have  grown  into  perfect  seeds, 
in  the  core  of  the  apple,  and  in  the  pod  of  the  com- 
mon green  pea  supplied  by  the  kitchen  garden.  To 
promote  this  wonderful  process,  and  to  insure  its 
grand  results,  as  far  as  possible,  the  most  beautiful 
contrivances  are  made  use  of.  If  the  flower  be  pen- 
dulous, the  pistil  is  longer  than  the  stamens,  so  that 
the  fertilizing  pollen,  in  its  fall  by  gravitation  towards 
the  earth,  shall  be  captured,  and  forced  to  accomplish 
its  proper  design ;  if  the  flower  grow  erect,  the  sta- 
mens are  the  longer  parts,  again  that  by  gravitation 
their  pollen  may  fall  upon  the  crown  of  the  pistil. 
While  the  process  of  fertilization  is  going  on,  the 
flower  is  apt  to  close  at  night ;  and  when  rain  begins 
to  fall,  so  that  cold  and  wet  may  do  no  injury,  the 
petals  frequently  draw  together  as  if  it  were  sunset, 
and  form  a  natural  pent-house  over  the  centre.  Let 
the  sun  shine  bright  and  warm,  and  the  petals  spread 
out  widely,  forming  mirrors  and  reflectors  which  cast 
back  the  light  and  warmth  upon  the  delicate  appara- 
tus in  the  centre.  Every  change  in  the  condition  of 
the  air  and  sky,  is  anticipated  in  the  plan  and  the 
economy  of  the  several  parts,  so  that  every  possible 
advantage  may  be  taken  of  what  is  favorable,  and  all 
adverse  conditions  be  promptly  guarded  against. 
Many  flowers,  it  is  true,  are  so  constructed  as  to  be 


THE   STRUCTURE    OF   FLOWERS.  57 

incapable  of  self-defence.  These,  however,  are  gener- 
ally of  a  form  that  is  already  a  sufficient  security,  or, 
they  are  so  poised  upon  the  stalk  that  the  wind  sways 
them  round,  and  instead  of  closing,  they  are  able  to 
turn  away  their  faces.  So  beautiful  and  ingenious 
are  the  expedients  that  allure  our  interest  at  every 
step  !  All  this,  moreover,  is  a  part  of  the  vesture  of 
the  "  grass  of  the  field  ;  "  for  the  apparel  of  the  little 
things  of  nature,  whether  it  be  lily  or  speedwell,  prim- 
rose or  golden  loose-strife,  that  we  contemplate,  con- 
sists not  only  in  the  substance ;  it  lies  as  much  in 
their  methods  of  life,  and  in  the  innumerable  designs 
for  their  prosperity  which  we  behold  thus  effectuated, 
and  "  if  God  so  clothe  "  them  with  all  tenderness  of 
care,  ah  me  !  may  the  teaching  not  be  lost ! 


CHAPTER    VI. 

FLOWEBLESS   PLANTS. 

WHILE  plants,  in  their  higher  grades  of  develop- 
ment, are  ornamented  with  those  beautiful  instruments 
of  self-perpetuation  termed  flowers,  others,  which 
compose  the  lower  grades,  instead  of  being  propa- 
gated by  the  agency  of  calyx  and  corolla,  stamens 
and  pistil,  are  in  a  special  and  popular  sense  flowerless. 
No  plant  is  absolutely  destitute  of  the  means  of  repro- 
ducing itself;  nor  does  any  plant  fail  to  give  illustra- 
tion of  that  wonderful  twofold  energy  of  nature  which 
culminates  in  man  and  woman.  It  is  true,  neverthe- 
less, that  many  vast  tribes  and  races  of  plants, 
including  many  forms  of  considerable  bulk  and  alti- 
tude, never  present  anything  to  our  eyes  (so  long,  at 
least,  as  unassisted  by  a  microscope)  that  can  legit- 
mately  be  called  a  flower ;  while  others,  though  they 
anticipate  the  idea  of  the  flower,  and  in  the  most 
exquisite  manner,  do  so  rather  in  symbol  than  in 
similarity  of  parts  and  organs.  Such  are  the  lovely 
plants  everywhere  so  much  admired  and  assiduously 
cultivated  under  the  name  of  Ferns ;  such,  too,  are 


FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  59 

sea-weeds ;  such,  again,  are  mosses,  and  many  other 
little  plants,  the  pigmies  of  their  world,  passed  over 
by  incurious  eyes,  and  uncared  for  by  any  save  the 
botanist,  but  capable  of  supplying  inexhaustible  de- 
light, and  this  at  every  season  of  the  year.  When 
the  survey  of  large  and  showy  plants  has  been  in  a 
measure  completed,  a  man  may  go  to  these  little 
flowerless  plants,  as  into  a  totally  new  realm,  begin 
life  over  again,  — find  that  the  tender  ministrations  of 
the  common  things  of  nature,  even  in  these  their  most 
attenuated  forms,  are,  after  the  love  of  wisdom  and 
goodness,  the  true  elixir  mice;  and  discover  that 
through  their  aid  the  surprises  and  wonder  of  the 
child  may  be  renewed  to  him  over  and  over  again,  and 
the  more  delightfully  because  the  experience  of  possi- 
bly half  a  lifetime  has  supplied  knowledge  that  renders 
the  new  facts  no  longer  mysteries,  but  insights.  What 
more  exquisite,  in  early  spring,  than  the  spectacle  of 
the  young  uncurling  ferns,  rising  out  of  the  earth  in 
little  coils  of  spongy  verdure,  densely  clothed  with 
brown  scales,  day  by  day  taller,  day  by  day  unrolling 
more  and  more,  till  by  and  by  they  present  the  figure 
of  a  bishop's  crozier,  or  the  crook  of  a  shepherd  ? 

By  the  time  that  the  sweet  dog-rose  flings  out  its 
scented  cups,  these  coils  have  turned  into  broad,  flat 
leaves,  often  with  innumerable  feather-like  segments, 
but  for  flowers  we  look  in  vain  :  autumn,  even  another 
season,  does  not  reward  our  expectation.  Instead  of 


60  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

flowers,  the  ferns  produce  bodies  analogous  only  to 
flowers,  and  these  are  originated,  usually,  upon  the 
under  surface  of  the  leaf,  which  they  bestrew  in  the 
shape  of  little  spangles,  or  embellish  with  broad  brown 
furry  bars.  Sometimes  these  curious  bodies,  instead 
of  being  scattered  upon  the  under  surface,  are  disposed 
along  the  edge  of  the  leaf,  when  they  form  a  miniature 
braid.  The  particular  mode  of  their  dispersion  supplies 
the  best  means  of  distinguishing  the  various  kinds  of 
ferns  ;  for,  in  ferns,  as  everywhere  else  in  nature,  real 
resemblance  depends  not  upon  superficial  but  upon 
deep-seated  characteristics,  and  we  should  make  great 
mistakes  if  we  relied  upon  mere  outline.  Outline  in 
ferns  is  usually  only  like  apparel  in  human  beings, 
which,  though  in  some  cases  suggestive  and  even 
conclusive,  in  others  may  lead  us  astray  and  perhaps 
into  peril.  In  the  shield-fern,  the  seed-spangles  are 
of  a  deep  purplish-lead  color,  and  disposed  in  double 
lines  up  the  centre  of  its  countless  leaflets ;  in  the 
Oreopteris,  or  mountain-fern,  the  spangles  run  like 
yellow  beads  around  the  edge,  following  every  inden- 
tation and  delicate  curve,  just  as  the  little  waves,  at 
high  water,  find  their  way  into  every  creek,  and  kiss 
the  great  round  pebbles  they  are  not  strong  enough  to 
encircle.  Contrariwise,  in  the  hart's-tongue,  instead 
of  spangles,  we  have  long  lines  of  tawny  felt,  that 
strike  obliquely  from  the  mid-vein  of  the  leaf  away  to 
the  edge  ;  and  in  the  maiden-hair,  delicate  little  semi- 


FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  61 

circles,  that  break  the  otherwise  even  margin,  and 
remind  us  of  the  undulated  edges  of  certain  sea-shells. 
These  masses  of  seed-material,  whatever  their  shape 
and  position,  are  technically  termed  the  sori,  and 
always  spoken  of  in  the  plural.  A  separate  one,  did 
we  care  to  remove  or  isolate  it,  would  be  a  sorus. 
Examined  with  a  tolerable  microscope,  every  "  sorus  " 
is  found  to  consist  of  a  heap  of  minute  boxes,  per- 
fectly globular  in  form,  and  capable  of  opening  into 
two  halves,  after  the  manner  of  a  bivalve,  such  as  the 
cockle.  The  opening  is  not  effected,  however,  by  means 
of  a  hinge,  but  by  means  of  an  elastic  spring,  which  is 
curved  half  way  round  it  while  the  box  is  young,  but 
subsequently  straightens  itself,  and  forces  the  box  open. 
The  boxes,  technically  termed  the  "  thecse,"  contain 
quantities  of  golden-colored  atoms ;  these  are  shaken 
out  when  the  "  thecse  "  burst,  and  of  their  growth  come 
in  due  time  the  new  fern-plants.  Yet  they  are  not 
seeds,  any  more  than  the  sori  are  flowers  !  Ferns  are, 
in  respect  of  their  reproduction,  elaborately  unique. 
No  plants  exhibit  so  truly  wonderful  an  economy ; 
they  make  imagination  true,  alike  in  their  diversity, 
and  in  the  mysteries  of  their  life ;  and  it  seems  but 
fitting  in  so  strangely-beautiful  a  race,  that  they  should 
be  contemporaneous  nearly  with  Time,  so  far  as  regis- 
tered by  fossils  and  by  living  nature.  For  in  the 
"  great  stone  book "  of  nature,  as  the  crust  of  the 
earth  has  well  been  designated,  few  records  of  the 


62  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

infinite  past  carry  the  mind  back  to  periods  prior  to 
those  when  ferns  existed,  or,  at  all  events,  plants  of 
the  fern  idea ;  and  in  the  green  lace  of  their  delicate 
leaves,  reappearing  so  sweetly  year  by  year,  now, 
after  a  thousand  ages  of  heritage  of  perfect  beauty, 
they  are  youthful  and  fresh  as  ever,  and  seem  to 
announce  themselves  immortal.  Ferns  existed  in  the 
earliest  ages  of  the  world's  history,  long  before  man 
was  ushered  upon  the  scene.  Their  race  has  seen  the 
rise  and  fall  of  empires,  the  birth  and  decease  of 
countless  generations.  Like  the  stars,  in  whose  self- 
same light  they  grew  and  flourished,  they  seem  an 
integral  part  of  the  glorious  system  we  call  our  own, 
and  in  the  middle  of  which  we  live.  I  do  not  know  a 
more  grand  and  exalting  thought  in  connection  with 
external  nature  than  when  on  a  fair  summer's  evening, 
in  a  country  lane,  while  it  is  yet  too  light  for  the  stars, 
but  the  planets  peer  forth  like  loving  eyes,  we  look 
at  these  green  ferns,  so  old  and  yet  so  young,  then  at 
those  "  diamonds  in  the  sky,"  so  young  and  yet  so 
old,  new-born  and  yet  so  ancient,  and  compare  their 
antiquity,  pondering  that  before  man  was,  that  same 
soft  lustre  came  streaming  down  on  their  ancestry  of 
verdure,  and  that  when  our  little  lives  have  run  their 
length,  and  we  have  dropped  back  into  the  dust  of  moth- 
er earth,  still  will  stream  hitherward  that  inextinguish- 
able brightness,  still  will  these  tender  leaves  rejoice  in 
their  innocent  life.  It  is  when  in  the  silent  contem- 


FLOWERLESS    PLANTS.  63 

plation  of  these  grand  and  awful  things  that,  perhaps 
more  powerfully  than  at  any  other  time,  we  hear,  as 
the  little  lad  in  the  temple  heard  the  voice,  while  Eli 
slept,  —  "  Have  I  been  so  long  with  thee,  Philip,  and 
thou  hast  not  known  me  ?  "  These  things  seem  more- 
over to  waken  up  the  reverent  soul  more  acutely  than 
indoor  didactics,  and  therefore  is  it  good  to  seek  their 
presence,  not  neglecting  temporal  and  immediate 
duties  and  responsibilities,  but  in  the  intervals  of 
duty  going  amid  them  and  beneath  them  to  be  re* 
freshed.  Fossil  ferns,  of  the  kind  referred  to,  are 
supplied  by  every  coal-pit,  —  not  from  that  portion 
of  the  coal  which  is  best  adapted  for  fuel,  but  from 
the  shaly  portions  which  lie  externally  to  it. 

Returning  to  the  seeming  seeds  of  ferns,  which,  as 
we  have  said,  are  yet  not  their  seeds,  we  have  next  to 
ask,  what  then  are  they  ?  If  we  sprinkle  them  upon 
a  piece  of  tile,  and  keep  the  surface  moistened,  in  due 
time  the  seed-like  atom  begins  to  grow,  and  a  minute 
green  plate  is  developed.  Underneath  and  upon  the 
edges  of  this  are  produced  organs  that  execute  the 
functions  of  stamens  and  pistil ;  an  actual  germ  is 
ripened  almost  in  the  substance  of  the  little  plate,  and 
from  this  arises  the  new  fern.  The  sorus  on  the  orig- 
inal fern-leaf  is  thus  a  branch  in  miniature  ;  every 
theca  in  its  turn  is  a  cluster  or  bunch  of  flower-buds 
in  miniature,  the  theca  itself  bearing  some  analogy  to 
the  white  sheath  that  encloses  the  flower-buds  of  a 


64  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

narcissus ;  while  every  seed-like  body  is  in  reality  a 
representative  flower-bud,  which  only  expands  after 
being  cast  away  from  the  parent,  and  develops  the 
true  seed  at  a  distance  from  it.  This  wonderful 
process,  it  may  be  well  to  repeat,  is  unique  among 
plants,  so  far  at  least  as  known,  and  gives  the  race  a 
most  striking  individuality. 

Next  in  familiarity  to  the  ferns  are  the  Mosses,  — 
those  delicate  little  velvety  or  lace-like  plants  that 
spread  themselves  over  the  bark  of  old  trees,  on  moist 
rocks,  upon  hedge-banks,  on  old  cottage-roofs,  espe- 
pecially  if  composed  of  thatch,  —  that  grow,  in  fact, 
in  almost  every  habitat  that  can  support  life.  The 
flowers  of  these,  though  extremely  minute,  can  be 
made  out  much  more  readily  than  those  of  ferns. 
While  the  plant  still  seems  no  more  than  a  tuft  of 
minute  leaves,  deep  down  amid  the  recesses  of  the 
foliage  there  are  developed  tiny  organs  analogous  to 
stamens  and  pistil ;  the  latter,  on  being  fertilized,  is 
elevated  upon  a  stalk  as  fine  as  hair,  and  then  we  get 
those  pretty  little  capsules,  fat  and  green,  or  ruddy 
and  half  pendulous,  that  show  so  conspicuously  to  the 
observant  eye  in  early  spring.  They  are  more  like 
choice  flowers  than  like  seed-pods,  and  are  so  organ- 
ized as  to  exhibit  some  of  the  phenomena  that  pertain 
to  the  very  highest  races  of  plants.  The  rim  of  the 
capsule  is  set  round,  for  instance,  with  delicate  and 
movable  rays,  resembling  the  white  border  of  a  daisy, 


FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  65 

and  exhibiting  the  same  kind  of  sensitiveness  to 
changes  of  the  atmosphere,  — that  is  to  say,  closing 
when  it  is  moist  and  clouded,  opening  out  flat  when 
the  sun  shines  and  the  heaven's  breath  smells  woo- 
ingly.  The  seeds  are  impalpably  minute,  and  float  in 
the  air,  like  the  winged  ones  of  thistles,  but  of  course 
invisibly.  When  carried  or  blown  against  any  moist 
and  shady  surface,  they  cling  to  it,  and  commence 
active  life,  and  in  a  little  while  make  it  seem  as  if  a 
coat  of  bright  green  paint  had  been  -overspread  there. 
Mosses,  independently  of  the  beauty  of  their  little 
capsules,  are  plants  that  abound  in  curious  interest. 
There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  plant  referred 
to  under  the  name  of  the  "  hyssop  that  springeth  out 
of  the  wall/7  was  one  of  their  number.  Since  hyssop, 
properly  so  called,  is  neither  an  inhabitant  of  walls, 
nor  so  remarkable  for  diminutiveness  as  to  form  nearly 
so  suitable  a  contrast  to  the  cedar  of  Lebanon,  it  is 
pretty  certain,  at  all  events,  that  the  allusion  is  made 
to  something  else  ;  and  the  positive  arguments  are  all 
in  favor  of  its  having  been  mosses  that  Solomon  spoke 
of.  Mosses,  like  ivy  -  and  wall-flowers,  consecrate 
themselves  to  the  ruin.  The  time-worn  castle,  the 
roofless  abbey,  are  favorite  abodes  with  them.  They 
love  also  to  grow  in  rural  graveyards,  and  may  often 
be  seen  filling  up  the  deep-cut  letters  of  the  epitaph. 
They  are  too  small  for  the  posy  or  bouquet,  —  not 
impressive  enough  for  the  flower-garden ;  they  seem 


66  PHENOMENA   OF  PLANT-LIFE. 

marked  out  by  nature  for  elegant  and  sacred  purposes 
that  shall  be  all  their  own,  and  these  they  never  fail 
to  fulfil.  Nature  never  forgets  either  her  festivities 
or  her  tender  sympathies.  When  spring  and  summer 
come,  the  chaplets  are  always  ready,  beautiful  as 
gladness,  and  dipped  in  odors  ;  when  there  is  anything 
sad  or  solemn,  she  is  ready  again,  and  with  a  smile 
that  gives  a  poetical  side  even  to  death. 

Sea-weeds,  those  lovely  and  fragile  forms  tossed 
upon  the  sands  from  the  country  of  the  mermaids,  — 
or,  in  their  larger  and  stouter  forms,  hanging  in  black 
tapestry  from  the  water-beaten  cliff,  —  sea-weeds, 
again,  are  flowerless  plants.  Yet  they  reproduce 
themselves  as  regularly  as  those  that  bear  stamens 
and  pistil.  Sea-weeds  differ  from  all  other  plants  in 
the  complete  fusion  of  all  their  parts  into  an  homo- 
geneous mass.  There  is  no  distinction  of  root,  stem, 
and  leaves ;  any  and  every  portion  is  a  miniature  of 
the  whole.  True,  they  hold  fast  to  rocks,  and  beauti- 
ful is  the  spectacle  when  the  tide  is  at  its  full,  and  the 
white-bubbled  waves  come  lashing  and  surging,  and 
the  long  black  thongs  and  branches,  with  their  great 
vesicles,  float  and  toss  in  the  water  like  a  strong 
swimmer  in  his  merriment,  secure  all  the  while  in 
their  living  anchorage  :  but  the  attachment  is  still  not 
that  of  a  root,  but  simply  of  a  powerful  adhesion.  If 
anything  can  be  compared  to  foliage,  it  will  be  the 
Blender  and  thread-like  portions ;  but  the  functions 


FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  67 

even  of  these  are  not  such  as  pertain  to  proper  leaves, 
the  plant  taking  up  nutriment  in  every  part  alike. 
The  parts  analogous  to  flowers  are  contained  in 
smaller  vesicles,  found  chiefly  near  the  extremities  of 
the  branches.  They  are  too  delicate  to  be  distinguished 
without  the  aid  of  the  microscope,  but  then  excite  the 
liveliest  astonishment,  so  lively  and  so  novel  are  the 
phenomena  by  which  their  energy  is  manifested. 
Fresh  water  contains  plants  of  much  the  same  general 
character  as  the  weeds  of  the  sea.  These  are  usually 
green,  never  purple  or  rose-colored,  like  many  of  those 
that  live  in  salt  water  ;  and  their  structure  is  in  many 
cases  much  more  simple.  Every  pond,  and  stream, 
and  fountain  pool  contains  abundance  of  light  green 
cloudy  matter,  which  when  carefully  taken  out  and 
diffused  in  a  basin  of  water,  is  found  to  consist  of  thin 
threads,  finer  than  the  finest  silk.  Examined  with  the 
microscope  these  threads  present  the  appearance  of 
necklaces,  consisting  of  numerous  oblong  cells  or 
beads  joined  end  to  end.  A  very  common  species, 
called  by  botanists  Zygnema,  illustrates  the  process 
of  seed-production  in  the  most  striking  manner.  The 
cells  are  filled  with  dark-colored  granules,  and  as  soon 
as  these  are  ready,  the  cells  of  adjacent  threads  unite 
by  their  surfaces  ;  a  passage  is  opened  from  one  into 
the  other ;  the  contents  are  all  transfused  ;  and  the 
cells  that  are  made  the  receptacle  of  this  commixture 
become  as  it  were  the  seed-pods.  So  marvellous  are 
the  disclosures  of  the  microscope  I 


68  PHENOMENA   OF  PLANT-LIFE. 

It  was  said  by  La  Place  that  certain  discoveries  in 
mathematics  had  lengthened  the  life  of  the  astronomer, 
by  enabling  him  to  realize  new  privileges  and  new 
delights.  As  truly  may  it  be  said  that  the  invention 
of  the  microscope  has  lengthened  the  life  of  the  phy- 
siologist. It  is  more  than  foreign  travel,  —  it  takes  us 
not  only  into  countries  that  we  have  read  of,  and  seen 
pictures  of,  but  into  realms  peopled  with  undiscovered 
wonder,  and  has  the  additional  enchantment  of  bear- 
ing us  ever  onwards,  by  making  us  feel  that  though 
we  can  never  get  into  the  centre  of  things,  we  may 
yet  be  always  approaching  nearer,  and  witnessing 
new  miracles.  There  is  as  much,  perhaps  vastly  more, 
in  the  infinite  little  for  man  to  learn  and  to  be  charmed 
with,  as  he  may  find,  or  than  he  can  grasp,  perhaps, 
in  the  infinite  great  and  distant.  Man  stands  midway 
between  two  worlds  in  more  senses  than  one.  If  he 
can  look  backwards  and  forwards  as  regards  time,  and 
feel  equidistant  alike  from  beginning  and  end,  so  may 
he,  by  the  help  of  those  wonderful  instruments,  the 
telescope  and  the  microscope,  perceive  himself  to  be 
midway  as  to  his  place  in  nature. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FRUITS  AND  AUTUMNAL  DAYS. 

THE  fruit  of  a  plant  is  the  portion  to  the  develop- 
ment of  which  all  activities  have  been  dedicated.  The 
root,  the  leaf,  the  flower,  have  all  wrought  to  the 
furtherance  of  this  grand  intention  ;  and  the  nearer  the 
time  has  come  for  the  appearance  of  the  fruit,  the  more 
beautiful  and  alluring  has  the  aspect  of  the  plant  become. 
There  is  in  this  a  wonderful  and  most  exquisite  anal- 
ogy with  the  history  of  animal  life.  What  the  fruit  is 
to  the  plant,  offspring  is  to  the  creature  ;  and  hence 
we  find  that  it  is  towards  pairing-time  that  birds 
become  vocal,  and  dressed  with  gayer  plumage,  and 
that  the  sweet  ingenuities  of  their  little  architecture 
begin  to  show  themselves  in  the  hedges,  beneath  the 
eaves  of  our  houses,  and  in  the  innumerable  quiet 
places  where  nests  and  fledglings  are  supposed  to  be 
secure, — too  often,  alas  I  the  contrary.  Hence,  too, 
we  find  that,  at  the  corresponding  period  in  their 
lives,  fishes  become  more  brilliant,  their  tinted  scales 
gleaming  with  unaccustomed  colors  as  the  swift  fins 
push  the  water  aside,  and  the  sunshine  falls  on  them 
slantingly.  Hence,  too,  we  find  that  the  insect,  when 


70  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

it  is  about  to  enter  on  the  final  stage  of  its  chequered 
life,  and  bequeathe  a  crowd  of  tiny  eggs  to  the  pro- 
spective seasons,  —  we  find,  I  say,  that  it  then 
assumes  those  glorious  wings  that  have  made  the 
butterfly  the  type  with  many  a  theologian  of  the  new 
state  after  the  resurrection.  The  egg-state  of  the 
insect  is  almost  negative  ;  in  the  grub  or  caterpillar 
phase  of  its  life  few  look  on  it  except  with  disrelish ; 
in  the  chrysalis  phase  it  is  again  passive,  and  seems 
to  have  dropped  out  of  the  ranks  of  living  things. 
This  phase  emerged  from,  and  the  wings  assumed,  or 
rather  disclosed,  —  for  they  were  already  in  the  chrys- 
alis, though  imperfect,  —  the  little  creature  mounts 
into  the  air,  chases  every  fancy  that  impels  to  another 
flower,  sips  a  little  honey,  sports  with  its  gay  com- 
panions, and  displays  those  exquisitely  beautiful  atti- 
tudes that  art  feels  glad  to  immortalize.  All  this  is 
premonitory  of  the  pairing-time  of  the  insect,  which 
is  thus  in  close  conformity,  as  to  incidents  and  circum- 
stances, with  that  of  the  bird;  while  both  series  of 
events  and  beautiful  spectacles  correspond  again  with 
those  that  are  manifested  in  the  plant  when  the  period 
approaches  for  the  ripening  of  the  seed,  which  is  only 
another  name  for  the  elaboration  of  the  fruit.  By  the 
time  the  plant  begins  to  blossom,  it  has  ordinarily 
acquired  its  perfect  physiognomy,  —  not  necessarily 
the  full  stature  it  is  capable  of  reaching,  but  it  shows 
the  perfection  of  its  general  profile.  The  idea  of  the 


FRUITS   AND   AUTUMNAL   DAYS.  71 

plant  is  there,  though  it  may  be  only  in  miniature,  as 
happens  with  young  forest-trees,  and  often  with  young 
trees  that  are  grown  for  their  economic  value  in  gar- 
dens and  orchards ;  for  every  species  of  plant  has  a 
configuration  of  its  own  ;  —  is  built,  so  to  speak,  upon 
a  definite  and  prescribed  model,  the  dimensions  of 
which  may  be  enlarged,  and  prodigiously  so,  as  years 
roll  over  the  world,  but  which  is  never  materially 
departed  from.  The  poplar,  that  when  full  grown 
towers  above  most  of  the  surrounding  trees,  shooting 
up  vertically,  yet  withal  so  unsociably,  and  giving  the 
same  pleasant  idea  in  the  landscape  that  spires  and 
columns  do  in  the  view  of  a  large  town  from  the  hill- 
side, —  this  tree,  in  its  youngest  state,  is  a  kind  of 
living  photograph  of  its  tallest  ancestor,  presenting 
all  the  characters  that  in  the  mature  one  are  merely 
repeated,  without  being  in  any  degree  diversified. 
This  general  figure  and  physiognomy  are  realized  by 
the  time  the  plant  begins  to  show  its  blossoms.  The 
latter  seldom  appear  before,  unless  under  some  con- 
straining influence  that  hurries  the  plant  to  early 
death,  as  when  it  grows  on  some  dry  wayside,  or  on 
some  scorched  and  sunburnt  cliff,  whence  every  parti- 
cle of  moisture  is  rapidly  evaporating,  and  then,  it  is 
true,  an  effort  is  often  made  to  produce  a  seed  rather 
than  die  childless.  For  here,  as  in  other  ways,  the 
.  plant  gives  us  a  profound  and  beautiful  lesson.  It  is 
not  dying  that  is  dreadful,  or  to  be  looked  on  with 


72  PHENOMENA  OF  PLANT-LIFE. 

dismay,  but  dying  without  having  lived,  i.  e. 
without  having  lived  to  some  good  purpose,  however 
slight,  so  that  the  best  was  done  that  could  be.  Plants 
under  cultivation  are  often  reluctant  to  produce  blos- 
soms. Year  after  year  they  unfold  abundance  of  green 
leaves,  and  as  "  foliage-plants, "  command  our  admi- 
ration ;  but  we  are  never  gratified  with  the  sight  of  a 
flower.  The  plan  generally  adopted  with  such  plants 
is  to  starve  them  in  some  way  ;  checking  the  exube- 
rance of  growth,  alarming  them,  as  it  were,  with  the 
fear  of  being  destroyed,  when  they  forthwith  make 
efforts  to  produce  flowers,  so  that  they  may  leave  at 
least  a  representative  of  their  race.  From  Mexico 
was  brought,  a  few  years  since,  a  magnificent  plant, 
named,  in  compliment  to  a  celebrated  French  Admiral, 
JBugainvillea.  This  is  so  unwilling  to  blossom,  that  in 
our  hothouses  it  often  presents  no  more  than  a  tapes- 
try of  dark-green  leaves.  The  expedient  that  is  said 
to  have  answered  best  in  the  way  of  persuasion,  is  to 
lay  bare  the  roots,  and  bring  one  of  the  hot  water 
pipes  in  contact  with  them,  whereby  they  are  in  a 
degree  dried  up.  Then  the  grand  lilac  clusters  make 
their  appearance,  every  flower  seeming  a  design  in 
muslin  rather  than  the  work  of  a  plant. 

While  the  physiognomy  and  general  idea  of  the 
plant  are  thus  attained  as  an.  antecedent  of  the  fruit, 
the  leaves  also  acquire  their  perfection.  The  young- 
est leaves  are  often  quite  unlike  those  that  come  after- 


FRUITS  AND  AUTUMNAL  DAYS.        73 

wards,  just  as  certain  features  in  the  human  face  are 
in  infancy  merely  forehead  and  nose,  and  we  have  to 
wait  till  the  'teens  for  their  established  shape.  This 
is  very  prettily  marked  in  seedling  trees,  such  as 
the  sycamore.  The  full-grown  leaf  is  shaped  like  that 
of  the  vine.  Three  great  broad  angles  divide  the 
surface,  and  these  are  again  distributed  into  smaller 
angles.  But  while  young,  the  leaf  is  simply  oval  and 
attenuated,  the  angles  not  appearing  till  the  tree  is 
many  months  old,  — if  tree  it  can  be  called  before  a 
winter  has  passed  over  it.  In  other  respects  the 
foliage  of  plants  is  often  inferior  while  young,  com- 
pared with  its  condition  when  the  flowers  are  about  to 
burst.  When  the  flowers  are  first  opening,  the  pecul- 
iar properties  and  qualities  of  the  leaves  are  also  most 
remarkable.  If  it  be  bitterness,  or  aroma,  or  adapt- 
edness  for  use  in  medicine  that  characterizes  the 
leaves,  this  is  the  period  when  they  should  be  col- 
lected. Before  the  flowers  appear,  they  are  compar- 
atively deficient ;  in  the  old  age  of  the  plant  they  have 
nothing  to  yield.  Hence  it  may  be  observed  that  in 
the  herb  markets,  the  great  sheaves  thither  brought 
of  sanctuary,  betony,  blushwort,  and  a  score  of 
others,  are  always  loaded  at  one  extremity  with  their 
withered  corollas.  Hence,  too,  in  districts  where 
there  is  great  faith  in  herb-teas  of  different  kinds, 
plants  valued  for  such  service,  and  that  reproduce 
themselves  annually  from  seed,  in  time  become  very 
7 


74  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

scarce  and  almost  extinct.  They  are  torn  out  of  the 
ground  at  the  most  critical  time,  and  the  seed  that 
should  renew  them  when  spring  returns  with  its 
encouraging  showers,  is  forbidden  to  ripen.  The 
botanists  who  carry  off  handfuls  of  specimens  as  so 
many  trophies  of  their  explorations,  have  far  less  to 
answer  for  than  the  herb-gatherers,  who  it  would 
scarcely  be  too  severe  to  call  the  locusts  of  modern 
ages. 

Last  in  the  order  of  preparation  for  the  fruit  comes 
the  glow  and  the  grace  of  the  flower.  When  this 
makes  its  appearance,  it  is  the  aurora  of  the  plants 
fecundity,  —  much,  it  is  true,  may  be  repressed  by 
blight  and  chill,  just  as  a  heavenly  morning-dawn  in 
early  summer,  that  cheers  the  heart  of  the  little  lark, 
is  not  seldom  changed  into  cold  and  gray,  by  winds 
that  bring  unwelcome  clouds,  —  but  the  intent  of  the 
flower  is  that  fruit  shall  be  its  sequence.  Therefore 
the  queenly  and  incomparable  hues ;  therefore  the 
odors  that  seem  breath  inherited  from  Eden  ;  therefore 
the  forms  and  outlines  before  which  the  mathematician 
is  still  a  child.  We  might  be  sure  that  some  great 
event  was  near  at  hand,  did  experience  not  assure  us 
that  fruit  would  follow  all  this  outlay,  since  grandeur 
of  announcement  in  nature  is  always  prophetic  of 
something  opulent  to  follow.  In  nature,  the  herald's 
trumpet  is  never  blown  in  idleness  or  sport.  It  is  al- 
ways an  illustration,  once  over  again,  of  the  incompar- 


FRUITS  AND  AUTUMNAL  DAYS.        75 

able  veracity  that  belongs  to  every  department  of  the 
works  of  God,  so  long  as  unmarred  by  man.  The  si- 
lent predictions  of  nature  would  be  theme  enough  for 
a  great  volume.  The  maturity  of  a  man's  lifetime 
would  be  well  devoted  to  the  record  of  them  and  to 
their  fulfilments,  each  one  in  turn, —  text  for  a  preach- 
er, and  theme  for  a  Christian  philosopher.  Many 
flowers,  it  is  true,  fail  in  their  promise  ;  but  this  is  no 
fault  of  the  mechanism,  — it  is  no  fault  in  any  shape. 
Were  every  flower  that  opens  to  ripen  its  fruit,  the 
strain  would  be  greater  than  the  plant  could  bear ; 
and,  as  illustrated  every  summer  in  the  flower-garden, 
exuberance  would  be  followed  by  slackness,  perhaps 
by  total  sterility.  Therefore  the  exquisite  taste  and 
wisdom,  which  in  order  not  to  use  the  Divine  name 
too  frequently,  men  have  agreed  to  call  "  Nature, "  co- 
operate in  such  a  way  that  while  the  decoration  shall 
be  all  that  the  soul  of  man  can  desire  in  the  shape  of 
beauty,  a  due  proportion  only  shall  be  actually  per- 
mitted to  serve  the  still  higher  purpose.  We  can 
suppose  what  would  be  the  condition  of  trees  and 
plants,  were  every  individual  to  become  fruitful,  by 
imagining  what  society  would  be,  were  every  little 
boy  to  become  a  Plato,  and  every  little  girl  a  Corinne. 
The  flowers  gone  by,  the  seed-pod  makes  its  appear- 
ance. This  is  no  new  thing.  The  seed  was  always 
in  the  heart  of  the  flower,  as  love  in  the  heart  of  a 
woman  ;  it  wants  only  sunshine  to  bring  it  into  view. 


76  PHENOMENA   OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

And  like  the  heart  of  a  woman,  it  takes  its  coloring 
again  from  that  which  environs  it.  Let  it  be  shade, 
and  there  is  nothing  but  coldness  and  insipidity ;  let 
it  be  sunshine,  and  life  leaps  up  as  at  the  touch 
of  an  enchanter.  As  said  in  a  former  paper,  we 
never  see  the  actual  beginnings  of  anything  The 
fruit  that  shines  amid  the  foliage  lay  in  the  flower, 
and  was  a  rudiment  when  the  petals  were  scarcely 
broken.  Its  appearance,  like  that  of  Spring,  is  only 
the  last  of  a  long  series  of  preparations.  All  plants 
produce  fruit  of  some  kind  or  other,  —  not  necessarily 
eatable  fruit,  any  more  than  every  person  talks  and 
acts  so  as  to  please  and  instruct.  But  in  some  shape 
or  other,  last  year,  or  this  year,  or  next  year,  it  is  to 
be  found  ;  and  though  it  may  not  answer  our  ideas  of 
fruit,  as  founded  on  grapes  and  apples,  it  is  still  fruit 
in  the  strict  and  proper  sense.  Acorns  are  the  fruit 
of  the  oak  quite  as  truly  as  filberts  are  the  fruit  of 
that  well-known  tree  which,  in  its  wild  state,  we  call 
the  hazel.  "  Acorn "  is  literally  " oak-fruit/7  "corn  " 
being  no  more  than  a  general  term  for  fruit,  —  where- 
fore we  speak  of  fields  of  corn,  as  distinguished 
from  those  which  supply  our  tables  with  roots  and 
leaves.  The  fruit,  in  a  word,  is  the  ripened  pistil  of 
the  flower,  comprehending  both  shell  and  contents. 
Here,  in  England,  we  have  an  immense  preponderance 
of  dry  and  inedible  fruits.  In  the  tropics,  on  the  con- 
trary, those  adapted  for  human  food  are  very  numer- 


FRUITS  AND  AUTUMNAL  DAYS.         77 

ous,  and  comprise  forms  and  flowers  to  which  cold 
countries  give  no  parallel.  Such  are  the  fruits  of  the 
thousand  kinds  of  palm-tree,  the  custard-apple,  the 
bread-fruit,  and  the  guava.  Now  and  then  these  il- 
lustrious exotics  condescend  to  ripen  their  produce  in 
our  hothouses,  but  it  seldom  acquires  the  flavor  that 
pertains  to  it  in  its  native  country.  The  skill  of  the 
gardener  can  supply  warmth,  but  it  cannot  bestow 
light.  "Let  there  be  light, ;;  is  the  beginning  every- 
where, both  in  the  moral  world  and  in  the  natural. 
Wanting  the  clear,  shining,  and  intense  brightness  of 
the  tropics,  the  mere  enjoyment  of  artificial  heat  will 
not  suffice.  Nor,  for  the  matter  of  that,  would  light 
suffice  to  ripen  them  without  a  due  proportion  of 
warmth.  The  old  story  meets  us  everywhere.  The 
head  and  the  heart,  the  intellect  and  the  affections, 
knowledge  and  good  dispositions, — what  are  they, 
deprived  of  their  correlatives  ?  Inside  the  fruit  is  the 
seed.  This  is  the  last,  grand,  and  crowning  effort  of 
the  plant's  existence ;  for  in  the  seed  lies  wrapped 
the  future  one.  Perhaps  a  mere  speck,  yet  capable  of 
unfolding  by  degrees,  and  absorbing  from  the  earth 
and  atmosphere  that  marvellous  sustenance  which, 
invisible  to  our  eyes,  shall  yet  be  wrought  into  wood 
and  sap,  and  built  into  great  boughs  and  branches, 
till  a  living  pillar  is  erected  that  shall  withstand  the 
shocks  of  ages. 

7* 


78  PHENOMENA    OF   PLANT-LIFE. 

And  thus  we  are  brought  round  to  the  point  from 
which  we  started.  Every  ending  is  a  beginning ; 
everything  completed  is  a  pedestal  for  something 
then  to  be  commenced.  All  things  are  forever  striv- 
ing to  begin  over  again.  We  rise  every  morning 
with  new  hopes,  new  desires,  new  resolves.  Would 
that  our  new  beginnings  were  always  as  fully  replen- 
shed  as  that  of  the  plant  in  its  little  seed  I 


THE   OAK, 

TREES  constitute  an  order  of  nobility ;  for  nature 
has  its  aristocracy  as  well  as  mankind.  If  there  be 
"  ancient  and  noble  "  families  in  a  nation  or  a  com- 
munity, —  still  older,  and  inheriting  yet  more  dignity, 
are  the  families  of  living  things  by  which  man  is  en- 
circled. He  can  claim  no  honor  on  the  score  of  de- 
scent or  genealogy  that  is  not  already  merited  by  some 
patrician  of  the  world  of  plants  ;  and  this  not  so  much 
because  trees  are  the  same  to-day  that  they  were  in 
the  beginning,  as  by  reason  of  their  absolute  excel- 
lence, their  serene  and  invulnerable  perfection. 

Trees  are  sanitary  agents  in  the  economy  of  the 
world  we  live  in.  By  the  process  of  "  assimilation/7 
which  means  the  abstraction  of  carbon  from  the  at- 
mosphere, in  order  that  in  due  time,  and  through  cer- 
tain vital  processes,  it  may  be  converted  into  wood 
and  other  vegetable  substances, — by  the  process  of 
"  assimilation,"  we  say,  trees,  through  the  medium  of 
their  leaves,  preserve  the  air  in  a  condition  fit  for  hu- 
man breathing.  Herbaceous  vegetation  greatly  con- 
tributes to  this  great  end ;  but  the  result  is  mainly 


TREES. 

referable  to  arborescent  plants,  their  size  and  extent 
of  leaf-surface  being  so  prodigiously  great,  when  com- 
pared with  that  of  the  former  kind.  We  little  think 
when  we  inhale  the  fresh  air,  and  quaff  it  upon  the 
hills,  like  so  much  invisible  and  aerial  wine,  that  its 
purity  and  healthfulness  come  of  the  glorious  trees. 
But  so  it  is.  Nor  have  we  merely  the  trees  of  our 
own  country  to  think  of  and  be  thankful  to.  The  air 
that  we  breathe  in  England  to-day  has  been  purified 
for  us  perhaps  a  thousand  miles  away.  If  the  wind 
blow  from  the  north,  we  may  be  grateful  to  the  Scan- 
dinavian birches  ;  if  from  the  west,  it  is  quite  possible 
that  the  magnolias  of  North  America  may  have  helped 
to  strain  it ;  if  from  the  south,  were  it  gifted  with  lan- 
guage, we  might  hear  a  tale  of  Indian  palms.  Every 
tree  in  nature  makes  itself  felt  in  the  good  it  does  the 
air,  —  a  beautiful  return  for  the  new  loveliness  it  re- 
ceives when  its  branches  and  foliage  are  stirred  and 
fluttered  by  the  breeze. 

Trees  supply  man  with  every  species  of  useful  arti- 
cle, whether  of  nourishment,  or  of  clothing,  or  of 
medicine,  and  with  timber  to  construct  dwellings,  and 
to  build  ships  with,  so  that  even  the  sea  shall  be  a 
highway.  Not  that  any  single  kind  is  of  utility  so 
multiform.  Fruits  are  supplied  by  some,  as  the  olive 
and  the  fig,  the  cocoa-nut  and  the  date ;  the  delicate 
inner  bark  of  the  paper-mulberry  furnishes  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  South  Sea  Islands  with  materials  for  their 


THE    OAK.  81 

simple  apparel ;  medicines  are  afforded  by  innumer- 
able species,  and  "  wood  "  and  "  tree  "  are  words  al- 
most synonymous.  It  would  be  foolish  and  presump- 
tuous to  say  that  man  could  not  exist  without  trees, 
because,  were  there  no  such  productions  in  exist- 
ence, the  Infinite  Benevolence  would  supply  his  wants 
through  some  other  medium.  But  constituted  as  man 
is,  and  established  as  Trees  and  their  functions  and 
properties  are,  it  is  plain  that  the  present  exquisite 
order  and  harmony  of  things  in  respect  to  man's  wel- 
fare, are  most  intimately  and  inseparably  identified 
with  trees.  Thus,  that  when  we  would  consider  man 
and  his  privileges,  the  amenities  and  the  enjoyments 
that  encircle  life,  the  comforts  and  the  ornaments  of 
his  home,  we  cannot  possibly  do  so,  if  we  would  give 
all  things  their  fair  place,  without  keeping  trees  also 
constantly  before  the  mind. 

Trees  are  indispensable  to  the  picturesque.  A 
great  mountain,  or  an  extended  plain,  may  have 
grandeur,  though  devoid  of  trees ;  and  it  is  easy  to 
conceive  of  richly-cultivated  valleys,  covered  with 
crops  of  corn,  or  unrolling  infinite  reaches  of  green 
pasture,  and  at  the  same  time  without  a  tree,  except  a 
little  one  here  and  there,  just  sufficient  to  serve  as  a 
landmark.  But  in  the  absence  of  trees,  none  of  these 
places  could  be  picturesque,  in  the  full  and  proper 
sense  of  the  word.  The  trees  break  the  outlines ; 
they  give  variety  of  colors,  movement  also,  and  shad- 


82  TREES. 

ows,  and  touch  the  imagination  with  agreeable  sense 
of  fruitfulness  ;  or  if  they  be  timber  and  forest-trees, 
with  the  idea  of  nobleness  and  grandeur.  They  are 
to  the  landscape  what  living  and  moving  people  are  to 
the  street,  or  to  the  interior  of  the  hall  or  temple,  — 
an  element  that  may  be  dispensed  with,  but  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  finest  and  most  impressive  influences. 
We  may  be  overpowered  by  the  stern  and  solemn 
grandeur  of  a  treeless  waste,  especially  if  it  be  com- 
posed of  mountains  ;  and  the  sensation  is  one  that 
gives  a  variety  not  unacceptable  to  our  experiences  of 
external  nature  ;  but  the  scenes  that  come  home  most 
closely  to  our  sympathies,  and  that  have  a  perennial 
hold,  are  those  that  are  enriched  by  the  abundance  of 
their  trees. 

Poetry  finds  in  trees  no  little  of  its  sustenance. 
From  the  most  ancient  poets  downwards,  all  verses 
that  have  immortality  in  them,  abound  more  or  less 
with  allusions  to  trees,  finding  in  them  either  images 
for  the  events,  —  both  glad  and  sorrowful,  —  of  human 
life,  or  emblems,  in  their  higher  nature,  of  what  per- 
tains to  the  heart  and  mind.  The  "  Language  of 
Flowers  "  would  be  incomplete  did  it  not  include  the 
"  Language  of  Trees,"  since  trees  are  adapted,  by 
their  original  and  inalienable  constitution,  to  serve  as 
metaphors  for  almost  everything  great  and  good,  and 
wise  and  beautiful,  in  human  nature.  Hence  the 
countless  citations  of  trees  in  Holy  Writ,  wherein 


THE    OAK,  83 

the  cedar  and  the  fir,  the  vine  and  the  olive,  the  palm 
and  the  fig-,  are  a  portion  of  the  ordinary  vocabulary, 
—  not  mentioned  arbitrarily,  or  as  a  sportive  act  of 
the  fancy,  but  on  account  of  their  being  the  absolute 
representatives  and  pictured  forms  in  the  temporal 
world  of  the  high  and  sacred  realities  that  belong  to 
the  invisible  and  eternal. 

Because  of  these  admirable  attributes  and  charac- 
ters of  trees,  we  purpose  in  this  series  of  papers  to 
examine  somewhat  closely  into  their  nature  and  life- 
history,  marking  out  the  features  and  physiognomy  of 
such  kinds  as  belong  to  our  own  island,  and  inquiring 
into  the  specialities  that  give  them  their  several  places 
in  art  and  poetry.  For  a  tree  is  not  merely  an  oak,  or 
an  ash,  or  an  elm.  It  has  qualities  for  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  heart,  moving  men  in  its  own  way,  and 
vindicating  prerogatives  that  are  peculiar  to  it.  The 
mind  of  that  man  grows  up  very  differently  who  in 
his  youth  is  accustomed  to  contemplate  oaks,  than 
that  of  him  whose  boyhood  is  spent  near  pines  and 
firs.  Where  evergreen  trees  prevail,  and  are  a  daily 
spectacle,  a  very  different  frame  of  mind  is  induced 
than  exists  where  the  branches  are  leafless  throughout 
the  winter.  As  the  stars  and  planets,  from  the  inac- 
cessible altitude  of  their  sweet  lustre,  make  the  heart 
great  by  the  contemplation  of  them ;  so,  after  the 
same  manner,  imposing  and  magnificent  trees,  whose 
branches,  when  we  go  beneath,  seem  the  clouds  of  a 


84  TREES. 

green  heaven,  have  a  power  of  ennobling  and  elevat- 
ing the  soul,  such  as  all  who  have  lived  among  such 
are  more  or  less  clearly  conscious  of,  and  which  is  to- 
tally impossible  to  little  ones. 

In  England,  the  trees  are  all  of  the  class  called 
"  exogenous,"  that  is  to  say,  they  have  numerous  and 
spreading  branches ;  the  leaves,  when  held  between 
the  eye  and  the  light,  are  found  to  be  marked  in  every 
portion  by  a  delicate  network  of  green  lines,  techni- 
cally called  the  "  veins  ;  "  and  upon  the  outside  of 
the  trunk  there  is  bark,  which  can  be  removed  like 
the  peel  of  an  orange.  When  one  of  these  exogenous 
or  branching  trees  is  cut  dawn,  or  if  a  branch  be 
lopped  off,  the  exposed  surface,  on  being  smoothened 
horizontally,  shows  elegant  concentric  circles,  sur- 
rounding a  central  point,  which  in  young  parts  of  the 
tree  indicates  a  column  of  living  pith.  The  concen- 
tric circles  announce  the  age  of  the  tree  or  branch, 
which  is  just  as  many  years  old  in  that  part  as  there 
are  rings.  In  its  earliest  stage,  or  while  only  in  its 
first  season  of  growth,  the  stem  of  the  seedling  tree 
consists  only  of  pith  and  an  enclosing  skin.  Woody 
matter  is  gradually  prepared,  and  this  becomes  depos- 
ited in  a  layer  between  the  pith  and  the  skin,  which 
latter  now  assumes  the  solidity  of  bark ;  and  should 
the  stem  be  cut  through  at  Christmas,  or  at  the  end  of 
its  first  year,  the  first  of  these  annual  rings  will  be 
plainly  visible.  Every  successive  year  this  process  is 


THE    OAK.  85 

repeated.  With  the  opening  of  the  leaves  in  spring 
—  for  it  is  the  leaves  that  really  effect  the  work  —  the 
preparation  and  deposit  of  a  new  layer  of  wood  is 
commenced,  so  that  by  the  close  of  the  second  season 
there  are  two  layers  ;  by  the  close  of  the  third  season, 
three  layers ;  and  so  on  as  long  as  the  vital  lease  of 
the  tree  endures.  The  bark  is  simultaneously  re- 
newed, enclosing  a  larger  mass  every  year.  This 
mode  of  growth  is  prettily  illustrated  in  the  spreading 
of  the  little  wave-circles  upon  the  surface  of  still 
water.  Standing  on  the  margin  of  some  lovely  lake 
or  mere,  and  looking  at  the  blue  sky  and  the  white 
clouds  that  are  reflected  in  its  clear  bosom,  how  often 
the  fairy  spectacle  is  broken  in  an  instant  by  the  wing 
of  some  light  bird  that,  skimming  through  the  air,  just 
touches  the  surface  and  sweeps  onwards.  But  the 
effect  of  that  touch  is  to  cause  circle  after  circle  of 
tiny  wavelet  to  move  away  from  the  spot  where  the 
touch  was  given,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  the 
beautiful  phenomenon  is  continued.  Just  like  this 
succession  of  wave-circles  is  that  of  the  annual  wood- 
circles  of  a  tree,  only  that  on  the  water  we  have  only 
an  evanescent  effect,  while  in  the  tree  there  is  new 
substance  and  solidity.  The  mode  of  gowth  and  the 
phenomena  referred  to  are  denoted  by  this  word  "  ex- 
ogenous," which  is  literally  no  more  than  "  expansion 
outwards."  Very  different  are  the  mode  of  growth 
and  the  internal  condition  of  the  trees  called  "  endog- 
8 


86  TREES. 

enous."  These  show  no  distinction  of  bark,  and  wood, 
and  pith  ;  they  are  destitute  of  branches  (except  in  a 
few  very  curious  and  exceptional  instances) ;  and 
their  leaves,  which  are  inconceivably  enormous  to  any 
one  who  has  never  seen  leaves  larger  than  those  of 
English  trees,  are  produced  only  upon  the  summit  of 
the  stem.  They  are  chiefly  represented  in  the  illustri- 
ous tropical  productions  known  as  palm-trees,  —  those 
soul-moving  emblems  of  the  south  and  east,  and  in 
England  are  'only  seen  in  large  and  costly  conserva- 
tories, where  room  can-  be  afforded  them  to  lift  their 
great  green  pride  on  high.  Even  then  we  only  see 
them  as  juveniles,  no  possible  structure  of  glass  being 
competent  to  shelter  them  when  full  grown,  except  in 
the  case  of  some  of  the  dwarfer  kinds.  It  is  among 
the  exogenous  trees,  accordingly,  that  in  England  we 
find  our  delight.  It  is  these  which  form  the  sweet  and 
solitary  arcades  of  the  forest ;  that  are  the  homes  or 
the  resting-places  of  the  birds ;  that  shelter  us  from 
the  storm,  and  temper  the  heat  of  the  sun ;  whose 
trunks  are  embossed  with  tender  creepers  of  green 
moss,  or  hidden  by  the  activity  of  the  innumerable 
and  ubiquitous  ivy ;  —  it  is  these  that  are  so  lovely  in 
their  youth,  so  venerable  and  patriarchal  in  their  old 
age ;  these  that  stand  still  in  quiet  dignity  while  we 
talk  of  fourscore  as  a  wonderful  lifetime,  and  for 
their  own  part  watch  the  rise  and  fall  even  of  nations. 
For  the  nature  of  an  exogenous  tree  being  to  expand 


THE    OAK.  87 

and  enlarge  externally,  there  is  of  course  no  physical 
limit  to  the  diameter  it  may  attain,  or  to  the  number 
and  massiveness  of  its  boughs  and  branches,  or  to  the 
multiplication  of  its  twigs  and  leaves  ;  and  should  tho 
lease  of  life  allowed  it  in  the  Divine  economy  be  con- 
siderable, as  happens  with  certain  kinds  of  mimosa, 
and  with  many  of  the  pine  and  cedar  kind,  it  may  go 
on  growing  and  growing  for  ages,  and  after  a  thou- 
sand years  be  still  in  the  full  vigor  of  its  existence. 
Hence  it  is  that  the  grand  scriptural  image  acquires 
such  richness  arid  force  —  "  As  the  days  of  a  tree  are 
the  days  of  my  people."  Hundreds  of  trees  are 
standing  at  this  moment  in  America,  some  in  Califor- 
nia, others  in  Brazil,  that  were  alive  when  those  words 
were  written,  and  with  a  grasp  upon  life  and  the  earth 
that  seems  to  assure  them  a  period  of  which  they  have 
perhaps  no  more  than  passed  the  middle.  England 
possesses  multitudes  of  endogenous  plants,  though  no 
endogenous  trees.  Lilies,  grasses,  rushes,  are  all 
structurally  of  the  same  nature  as  the  palm-trees, 
and  now  and  then  they  give  us  a  pretty  prototype  of 
the  palm ;  but  the  beau  ideal  of  the  endogen,  as  said 
before,  belongs  to  the  equinoctial  regions.  It  is  a 
proud  and  inspiring  thought  for  us  nevertheless,  that 
art  and  the  skill  of  the  gardener  allow  us  the  sight  of 
them.  By  virtue  of  our  hothouses  and  conservatories, 
we  who  live  in  this  age  are  introduced  to  the  vegeta- 
tion of  every  part  of  the  world,  without  the  trouble  or 


88  TREES. 

risk  of  departing  either  long  or  far  from  home.  Eng- 
land, which  stands  midway  between  extreme  cold  and 
extreme  heat,  with  a  surface  that  embodies  in  minia- 
ture every  element  and  ingredient,  except  the  volcano, 
that  gives  variety  and  sublimity  to  the  face  of  the 
earth  ;  —  England,  through  its  art  and  science,  is  the 
EXHIBITION  of  the  whole  world.  We  need  but  ask  for 
Saloon  A,  or  Saloon  B,  and  all  that  the  heart  can  de- 
sire is  displayed  to  view.  Kew  ;  Chatsworth  ;  if  we 
cross  the  Tweed,  Edinburgh  ;  and  Dublin,  if  we  make 
our  way  to  the  green  isle,  show  collections  of  palms, 
among  other  things,  that  amply  inform  us  as  to  their 
wonderful  nature.  In  these  glorious  places  we  see 
the  tropical  regions  as  in  a  concave  mirror,  or  in  a 
stereoscope,  with  the  added  charm  that  all  around  us 
is  alive. 

Foremost  among  British  trees,  alike  in  grandeur, 
utility,  length  of  life,  and  amplitude  of  association, 
stands  the  Oak, — that  famous  production  which  even 
in  the  days  of  Homer  was  a  time-honored  proverb  for 
strength  and  endurance.  "  Thou,"  says  one  of  his 
heroes  to  a  man  who  quailed,  "  art  not  made  of  the 
oak  of  ancient  story."  *  In  England  this  noble  tree 
is  found  under  many  different  forms,  the  contour,  the 
endurance  of  the  foliage,  the  figure  of  the  leaf  and 
acorn,  varying  considerably  more  than  the  unobserv- 
ant of  minute  particulars  would  ever  suppose.  All  the 

*  Odyssey  xix.  163. 


THE    OAK.  89 

varieties  are  resolvable,  however,  into  two  principal 
ones,  and  these  two  are  so  nearly  connected  by  inter- 
mediates, that  it  is  probable  the  oak  of  old  England  is 
after  all  very  like  a  human  face,  — presented  under  in- 
numerable profiles  and  complexions,  but  always  and 
everywhere  the  same  good  old-fashioned  combination 
of  features  that  was  possessed  in  the  beginning.  The 
two  principal  forms  are  the  wavy-leaved  oak  and  the 
flat-leaved,  called  respectively  by  men  of  science, 
Quercus  robur  and  Quercus  sessiliflora.  The  former  is 
distinguished  by  its  remarkably  tortuous  branches, 
and  the  irregular  disposition  of  the  foliage,  every  leaf 
lying  in  a  different  plane,  and  the  whole  presenting 
an  aspect  of  great  massiveness.  Leaf-stalk  there  is 
scarcely  any;  the  acorns,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
borne  upon  peduncles  of  several  inches  in  length. 
Individually,  the  leaves,  as  expressed  in  the  name, 
have  a  strong  tendency  to  be  wavy  in  their  surface 
and  outline.  The  flat-leaved  oak  differs  in  its  com- 
pact form,  and  strong  disposition  to  roundness ;  the 
branches  are  more  horizontal,  the  leaves  lie  in  parallel 
planes,  and  individually  are  flat,  and  with  rather  long 
stalks.  In  spring,  we  may  further  observe  that  the 
leaf-buds  are  larger;  and  in  autumn  that  the  acorns 
are  shorter  and  broader  than  in  the  other,  and  that 
they  are  almost  or  totally  destitute  of  peduncles ;  if 
present,  the  peduncles  are  stout,  not  slim  and  delicate 
as  in  the  wave-leaved.  These  are  distinctions  very 
8* 


90  TREES. 

easily  made  out.  To  trace  them  is  at  once  an  agree- 
able and  instructive  occupation  for  half  an  hour,  when 
we  go  into  the  country  for  a  day's  enjoyment.  Nor 
does  it  end  in  the  simple  discrimination  of  two  differ- 
ent things ;  for  the  wave-leaved  oak  has  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  a  more  excellent  tree  than  the  other, 
while  the  flat-leaved  is  considered  better  adapted  to 
excite  ideas  of  the  picturesque.  A  glorious  spectacle 
is  that  of  the  oak  in  the  month  of  April,  when  its  am- 
ber-tinted buds  stud  the  tree  like  so  many  jewels. 
They  do  not  open  hurriedly,  like  those  of  the  syca- 
more or  the  horse-chestnut.  From  first  to  last,  the 
life  of  the  oak  seems  characterized  by  placidity.  It 
lives  so  long  that  it  can  afford  to  be  leisurely  in  all  its 
movements,  and  at  every  season  alike  expresses  dig- 
nity and  calmness.  In  a  little  while,  when  the  young 
leaves  are  half-expanded,  come  the  flowers,  though 
not  such  flowers  as  we  use  for  bouquets.  Nature  has 
other  ways  of  fashioning  flowers  than  after  the  model 
of  the  rose  or  lily.  To  note  them  is  one  of  the  great 
rewards  and  charms  of  Botany,  —  which  does  not 
mean  calling  plants  by  Latin  names,  but  exploring  the 
wonderful  nature  of  their  various  parts,  an4  how  ex- 
quisitely they  are  fitted  for  their  several  uses  and  des- 
tinies, and  then  comparing  them  with  other  forms  of 
leaves  and  flowers,  and  discerning  step  by  step  that 
nature  is  all  one  song,  but  coming  forth  in  countless 
tones,  or  rather  like  a  grand  Oratorio,  where  we  never 


THE   OAK.  91 

* 

have  two  parts  exactly  alike,  yet  everywhere  repeti- 
tion and  reverberation  to  the  ear  that  knows  how  to 
listen.  Flowers  are  not  necessarily  sumptuous,  and 
fragrant,  and  brilliant-hued  in  order  to  be  flowers. 
The  idea  of  a  flower  implies  simply  an  elegant  mech- 
anism for  the  production  of  seed,  and  that  this  be 
large  or  small  is  of  no  more  importance  than  that  the 
heavenly  teachings  should  be  printed  in  one  kind  of 
type  or  another.  It  is  worthy  of  note  also  that  the 
great  timber-trees  of  the  North  are  remarkable,  as  a 
rule,  for  the  insignificance  of  their  flowers.  The 
short-lived  vegetation  of  the  field  and  garden,  seems 
decked  with  its  sweet  flower-brightness  in  compensa- 
tion. Where  our  hearts  are  to  be  lifted  up  in  admira- 
tion of  strength  and  patriarchal  majesty,  the  allure- 
ment of  flowers  can  be  dispensed  with.  Those  of  the 
oak,  as  said  above,  make  their  appearance  contempora- 
neously with  the  young  leaves,  and  under  two  differ- 
ent forms.  First,  there  are  innumerable  yellowish 
tufts  and  fringes  depending  from  near  the  extremities 
of  the  twigs ;  among  them  are  the  tips  of  the  rudi- 
ments of  the  future  acorns,  scarcely  larger  than  the 
head  of  a  pin,  and  of  a  deep  red  color. 

The  oak  is  thus  one  of  the  trees  in  which  the  dis- 
tinction of  sex  is  strongly  marked.  All  plants  ex- 
press, in  some  way  or  other,  the  omnipresence  in  or- 
ganic nature  of  masculine  and  feminine.  But  it  is  not 
always  palpable  to  the  eye.  Some  philosophers  con- 


92  TREES . 

sider  that  where  it  is  most  plainly  shown,  we  have  a 
nearer  step  towards  perfection  of  structure ;  and  on 
this  ground  regard  the  oak  and  its  congeners  as  far 
more  noble  in  the  scale  of  vegetable  life  even  than 
apple-trees  or  vines.  Acorns  would  never  be  devel- 
oped from  the  rudiments  in  question,  were  the  tasselled 
fringes  not  to  cooperate,  and  contrariwise  the  tasselled 
fringes  would  yield  no  acorns.  Summer  aids  the  de- 
velopment ;  then  comes  serene  October,  and  the  pretty 
embossed  cups,  round  as  a  bubble  upon  the  water, 
holding  them  up  awhile,  as  a  young  mother  holds  up 
her  child,  cast  them  to  the  earth  in  kindly  largess. 
But  although  the  acorns  may  sprout  where  they  fall, 
none  grow  to  be  even  saplings  beneath  the  shade  of 
the  parent.  Only  those  that  get  carried  to  a  little 
distance  become  oaks.  And  this  has  been  observed 
to  be  largely  through  the  instrumentality  of  squirrels. 
So  beautifully  are  the  necessities  of  the  various  realms 
of  nature  harmonized  one  to  the  other.  The  little 
quadruped  fulfils  an  instinct  proper  and  needful  to  its 
own  existence,  and  in  so  doing,  contributes  to  the 
perpetuation  of  the  tree. 

Representatively,  —  that  is,  as  viewed  by  the  light 
of  poetry,  which  means,  in  turn,  by  the  keenest  in- 
sight of  the  mind,  that  penetrating  below  the  surface, 
and  beholding  the  centres  of  things,  brings  out  their 
highest  value,  that  is  to  say,  their  Significance, — rep- 
resentatively, the  oak  is  strength,  endurance,  and  dig- 


THE   OAK.  93 

nity,  holding  the  same  place  among  trees  that  the  lion 
does  among  animals,  and  the  eagle  among  birds. 
Hence  we  find  it  many  times  referred  to  in  Scripture, 
and  always  in  connection  with  what  is  understood  to 
be  permanent  and  enduring,  —  as  when  the  tables  of 
the  law  are  described  as  having  been  set  up  against 
an  oak,  to  signify  that  the  law  was  given  to  last 
forever.  It  would  be  a  very  trifling  piece  of  informa- 
tion for  the  dignity  of  Scripture  to  communicate,  if  it 
were  no  more  than  the  bare  physical  fact  that  the 
tables  were  placed  against  an  oak.  Scripture  always 
means  something,  —  it  does  not  simply  speak.  It  is 
not  a  book  of  words,  but  of  ideas,  speaking  for  all 
time  ;  which  kind  of  language  comes  of  the  facts  that 
it  records  being  not  simply  literal  but  representative. 
It  is  literally  true,  without  doubt,  that  the  tables  were 
placed  against  an  oak ;  it  is  no  less  true  that  an  oak 
was  chosen  because  of  its  symbolic  meaning  for  all 
ages.  The  poetical  character  of  the  oak  is  beautifully 
acknowledged  again  in  the  time-honored  allusion  to 
the  defenders  of  our  country  as  "  hearts-of-oak."  No 
one  disputes  the  fact  that  our  sailors  are  made  of  this 
capital  material ;  yet  how  absurd  the  statement,  if 
taken  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  poetry !  This 
shows  that  although  much  that  holds  the  form  and 
outward  show  of  poetry  may  be  unmeaning  and  silly, 
the  inmost  and  true  spirit  of  poetry  finds  a  response 
in  universal  human  nature,  and  that  its  genuine  lan- 
guage never  needs  interpreting. 


14  DAY  USE 


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//IAI 


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